


All I Want for Christmas

by orphan_account



Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018) Actor RPF
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Season, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Fluff and Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-11
Updated: 2019-12-23
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:47:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 28,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21753979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: After a falling out two years ago, you and Ben have a complicated relationship. The Mazzello's annual Christmas dinner complicates things further.
Relationships: Ben Hardy/Reader, Ben Hardy/You
Kudos: 19





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I can't remember whether I've ever done a Ben fic before, but I've read a lot of cute holiday shit this week, and I felt the need to join in. Expect several chapters!

Decorating your apartment was, without a doubt, one of your favourite parts of the year. As a kid, you had waited eagerly for the first day of December, because that was the day your family would finally allow you to decorate. The jealousy of watching your across-the-street neighbours, the Mazzellos, setting up their tree in their front window halfway through November almost killed you. Granted, your parents’ tree had been hand-selected by your father, and was a _real_ one, cut from some forested area upstate; it could only go up a few weeks before Christmas or it would die. Anyhow, now that you were an adult, you could decorate whenever the hell you wanted – and with Joe as your roommate, November was an entirely appropriate time to do so.

As you removed boxes of ornaments and decorations from the tiny storage closet in the living room and stacked them beside the fireplace, the door of your apartment swung open, and in came Joe, hauling one end of the cardboard box containing the massive artificial tree he’d seen at Home Depot and _insisted_ on buying. On the other end of the box was someone you were much less thrilled to see: Joe’s BoRhap castmate and new BFF, Ben. 

“Realized as soon as I saw the box that there was no way I could get it up the stairs alone,” Joe huffed, setting the box down against the living room wall with an exhausted sigh. “Ben’s in town until the first week of January – I told you that, I’m pretty sure – so I picked him up at his hotel, and in exchange for a hearty helping of the rum and eggnog sitting in our fridge right now, he agreed to help me bring this baby home! And now that he’s here, he might as well help us set it up and decorate the place!” Joe’s eyes sparkled with joy at the prospect of Christmas-ifying the apartment alongside the two friends he loved most in the world. Not wanting to kill his excitement, you faked a huge smile and let out a half-hearted, “Yay!” Ben stood awkwardly behind Joe and stared at the floor, his hands tucked into the pockets of his dark-wash Diesel jeans. 

“If you’d rather it just be the two of you, Y/N, I don’t mind at all,” Ben said out of obligation, his eyes flickering up to meet yours; his lips curved into a smirk that you just wanted to slap right off his face. “I don’t want to butt in on any traditions you might have, or whatever.” Joe held his breath, waiting for you to accept Ben’s offer to leave and happily wave him out the door. 

“No, stay!” you insisted, the pitch of your voice rising much higher than you’d intended it to. “Of course you should stay. We’re thrilled to have you help, there’s lots to do.” Internally, you cursed yourself for sounding like such an idiot. Joe seemed oblivious, you thought, and was just pleased to hear the two of you finally getting along, but Ben’s smug little grin set your blood boiling. 

“Great!” Joe said brightly, clapping his hands together. “Well, this shit’s not gonna set itself up, so I’ll grab the ‘nog, and we can get going! Y/N, would you mind putting on some holiday tunes?” You rolled your eyes and smiled at his dad-ish colloquialisms, remembering how your father and his, both gone now, had spoken the same way. Joe set off towards the kitchen, and Ben followed at a leisurely pace. 

“Thanks for letting me hang around, Y/N,” Ben murmured, his voice low and heady. As he passed you, his shoulder gently grazed up against yours, and his fingertips brushed the back of your hand. Even the momentary feeling of his skin against yours sent a shiver up your spine; you hated that he had that effect on you, even now. 

“Watch it, _Jonesy_ ,” you hissed quietly, snatching your hand away. Ben paid no heed to the animosity of your comment, just walked off into the kitchen in search of the rum Joe had promised him. Thankfully, he fell into conversation with Joe almost immediately, and kept his eyes to himself. _Joe ought to keep him occupied and out of my hair for a while,_ you thought hopefully. 

While the boys were busy with their drink-mixing in the kitchen, you started to open boxes, peeking inside to get an idea of what should be unpacked first. A large Rubbermaid box contained the Christmas village you’d spent the last two decades collecting, which would be set out atop the ledge of the half-walls that separated the kitchen from the rest of the apartment. Two bags full of fake snow, a sparkly cotton-like substance, had been packed on top of some painted wooden snowflakes in the blue box – or was it the red? Wherever it was, the snow had to be arranged beneath the village pieces to bring the winter wonderland to life. 

The boxes containing ornaments were labelled, but would need to wait until the tree was up, and you didn’t dare start that without Joe; he would be devastated if he didn’t get to arrange the tinsel and place the star atop the tree. The stockings, however, could be hung from a bit of twine above the fireplace, and they were at the top of the box you’d just opened. 

Setting the stockings on the ground in front of the fireplace, you snuck into the kitchen in search of a pair of scissors and the roll of twine you were sure you had stuck in the junk drawer. Joe and Ben were deep in conversation, so you attempted to be quiet as not to disturb them. Once you had secured the necessary supplies and cut enough twine to span the length of the fireplace, you set to work hanging the handmade stockings. 

Two years before, you had acquired some leftover holiday fabric scraps from Mrs. Mazzello’s quilting club, and with the scraps, you made small stockings for each of your and Joe’s friends. Everyone’s name had been embroidered in cursive onto the hemmed top of each stocking. They had taken a long time to make, but your love for Christmas had defeated your concerns about not having enough time for the project, and the results were quite pretty, you thought. In the centre of the string, you hung yours and Joe’s, as you were the apartment owners. Alternating sides to keep things even, you proceeded to hang the rest; Rami, Lucy, Gwil, and Ben would each receive a few little gifts from ‘Santa’ on Christmas morning, or whenever they were able to visit during the holidays. 

“Hey, why’s mine all the way at the end?” a deep voice behind you protested. “Here, let me help you fix this.” Ben came up beside you, and much to your annoyance, rearranged the line-up so that his stocking was between yours and Joe’s. “There we go, all better,” he said, smiling down at you. 

“I hope Santa brings you coal this year,” you said, narrowing your eyes at the irritatingly handsome blonde. His hair was perfectly styled, not a strand out of place, which annoyed you even more. Everything about Ben rubbed you the wrong way, whether it was the volume of his breathing, or the way he cracked his knuckles at the dinner table. 

“Diamonds are made from coal, you know,” Ben replied, waggling his eyebrows at you. “So by all means, let Santa know that I’ve been naughty this year.” Ignoring his innuendo, you stood on your tiptoes and glanced over Ben’s shoulder in search of Joe. Not seeing him in the kitchen or in his bedroom, you figured he must have gone to the bathroom, which was sandwiched between your bedrooms; most importantly, he was out of earshot. Now was probably the best time to sort things out with Ben, and you didn’t have long to do it. 

“Alright, Jones,” you sighed, keeping your voice low so that Joe wouldn’t hear you, “let’s have a chat.” Ben’s soft green eyes met yours, and as usual, you had to focus your vision on his cheekbones, or risk drowning in his eyes. 

“About what?” Ben asked, feigning ignorance. If he thought leaning closer to you, bringing his cologne-scented body closer, was going to change your mind and keep you from chastising him, he was wrong. 

“About _us_ ,” you muttered, stepping back to create some distance. “Joe wants you here today, and that’s why I’m not asking you to leave. But you need to stop acting like a dumb teenage boy, and _quit looking at me like that._

“Like what?” Ben was all innocence today, it seemed. 

“Like you’ve seen me naked,” you chided quietly. _Why did this man insist on playing games with you?_ The corners of Ben’s mouth curled upwards, and he regarded you with a wicked little smile. 

“But I _have_ seen you naked,” he reminded you, as if there were any way you could have forgotten. 

“That’s not the point, Ben,” you said evenly. “The point is that you’re screwing with me, and I want it to stop. If I could avoid you entirely this Christmas, I would. But for Joe’s sake, and everyone else’s…” You trailed off, certain that you didn’t have to say any more for him to understand. 

“I forgot how easy it was to rile you up,” Ben murmured, that stupid smile still settled on his lips. “But alright. If you want me to stop, I will.” He shrugged and slid his thumbs into his pockets as if this was the end of your argument. The mischievous glint in his eyes said otherwise. 

“There’s something you’re not saying,” you frowned, crossing your arms over your chest. “Ben…” 

“Oh, it’s not much,” he said, stroking his chin thoughtfully. “I was just thinking that maybe, if you came to the Mazzello’s Christmas dinner as my date, I’d be more likely to leave you alone.” 

“You don’t need a date, and I’ve already been invited to the dinner,” you told him blankly. “In fact, I’ve been going to this dinner longer than you’ve been alive.” Ben cringed slightly at the reminder of your age difference; the reality that he was eight years younger than Joe, and six younger than you, was a touchy subject. He felt like the baby of the group, even though Lucy was the _real_ baby at 25. 

“I don’t _need_ a date,” Ben agreed, “but if we went together, Mrs. Mazzello and your mom won’t ask about your nonexistent love life for the millionth year in a row.” _Fuck._ Ben was good. Leave it to him to know about your one insecurity around the holiday season. But why did his familiarity with your life always come as a surprise? You’d been close friends for two years before your falling out; of course he would know that your mother's disappointment about your perpetual singleness bothered you. 

“And why would I want to go with _you_ , of all people?” you asked. Against your will, your breath caught in your throat as Ben's hand brushed against yours for the second time that day. This time, you didn't pull away. “You know why,” Ben said softly, his eyebrows knitting together ever so slightly; he _hoped_ you knew why. The way his gaze was flickering from your eyes to your lips and back managed to distract you from being too annoyed by the lack of distance now between you. Whether you or he had moved closer, you weren’t sure; what you did know was that he had only to dip his head down a few inches to kiss you. 

Ben never got the chance, because a very confused Joe, who was loitering in the doorway of the living room, chose that moment to speak up. In the heat of the conversation, you must not have heard the toilet flush, or the water run in the sink, or the creak of the floorboards as Joe made his return. 

“Am I interrupting something?” Joe asked, glancing between the two of you. You yanked your hand from Ben's and held it behind your back; your skin felt as if it were on fire, if that were possible. 

“Not even a little,” you said sharply, turning towards your roommate and hoping you looked less guilty than you felt. “Ben just thinks he knows best about how to arrange these stockings, and I’m telling him that he’s wrong.” Ben went along with your lie and rolled his eyes dramatically at your comment. 

“Well, Y/N is paying no attention whatsoever to colour when she’s arranging these stockings,” Ben argued, “and I’m trying to explain that it would look better if she switched things around a bit.” The two of you took turns bickering back and forth over literally nothing, making Joe wish that he had just stayed in the bathroom for an hour or so, and let the two of you work things out your own way. 

“I wish they would just sleep together already,” he lamented quietly to himself.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ben's motives are revealed, and you aren't sure how to feel about it.

**Ben: So…  
Y/N: So what?  
Ben: Are we going the Mazzello’s together?  
Y/N: …  
Y/N: Are you really going to leave me alone if I say yes?  
Ben: Cross my heart.  
Y/N: Fine. But no funny business in front of my mom. This is a one-night thing.  
Ben: I’ll behave, pinkie swear.  
Y/N: Why do I not believe that?**

* * * * * 

It had been two weeks since Ben had come over to help you and Joe decorate the apartment, and for some reason, he’d chosen today to text and confirm that you would be attending that stupid dinner together. What the hell was he playing at? With a sigh, you tossed your phone on your bed and headed to the kitchen, hoping that Joe hadn’t finished the carton of lactose-free Cookies ‘n Cream froyo in the freezer. To your delight, the container was still half-full. Grabbing a spoon, you dug into the frozen yumminess, which you were pretty sure would be gone by the end of the night. Joe, spying you from his place on the living room sofa, called out. 

“Bring another spoon! You can’t eat that all yourself,” he teased. Crinkling your nose, you fished the tiniest spoon possible from the drawer for Joe, and then joined him in the living room, where he had some random NFL game on the TV. Baseball season didn’t start until March, so he had to entertain himself somehow, you supposed. 

“I could definitely eat this all by myself, thank you very much,” you told him, “but because you asked _so nicely,_ I’m willing to share.” Your roommate snatched the baby spoon from your hand and made room for you on the sofa, even being so kind as to shift his feet along the coffee table so you would have space to kick your heels up, too. 

“So what's happening with you and Ben?” Joe asked, wasting no time with pleasantries. He dug his spoon into the frozen yogurt container and lifted out a heaping spoonful of the lactose-free goodness and regarded you expectantly as he popped the spoon into his mouth. “Come on, Y/N, it’s me. You tell me everything,” he mumbled through a mouthful of frozen cookie. 

“There’s nothing to tell,” you sighed, settling in to the corner of the loveseat. “We argued when we saw each other last, and that's it. You know Ben and I – it’s just complicated.” Joe rolled his eyes and shook his head. 

“Yeah, but here’s the funny thing,” he said, licking his spoon, “you and Ben got along for like, a whole year when you first met. It even seemed like you were kind of into each other. And then,” he pointed his spoon at you accusingly, “something weird happened after that night we all went out to that club in LA, and you’ve not so much as given him the time of day since.” 

“Oh, _I’ve_ been ignoring him, have I?” you questioned, your expression bordering on incredulous. “I’d say that Ben has done his fair share of making things difficult between us.” 

“And what might that be?” Joe inquired curiously. “I’m not trying to pry for the sake of gossip, Y/N. You guys are my best friends, and I want you to be able to exist in the same room without killing each other.” 

“Yeah, well, we’re going together to your mom’s Christmas dinner, so maybe you’re wrong about some things, Joey.” 

You aren’t sure why you decided to say it. It was true; you had (begrudgingly) agreed to attend the dinner with Ben – purely to appease your mother’s incessant questioning about your dating life, of course. When Joe’s mouth dropped open in shock and confusion, you gave him a smug little smile, but returned your attention to the frozen yogurt without so much as an explanation. 

“You’re going together…as friends?” Joe asked cautiously, his eyebrows knitting together. 

“We’re going _together_ ,” you repeated emphatically. “But I don’t want to talk about it. It’s new, and we don’t have everything figured out.” _I’m not going to regret this at all,_ you thought sarcastically. _And Ben totally won’t be mad at me for lying to Joe. Why would he, when I’ve given him the cold shoulder for the better part of two years?_

“Well that’s…something,” Joe stammered, unsure of how he should be responding to your sudden and surprising revelation. “Good for you guys, I guess?” He awkwardly patted your knee, to which you responded with a howl of laughter. 

“Wow, that wasn’t weird _at all_ ,” you said, playfully smacking Joe’s arm. “This is why I didn’t say anything, Joe. I knew that’s how you would react.” Shaking his head, Joe grabbed another scoop of ice cream and turned his attention back to the football game on TV. The teams weren’t ones he typically watched, you thought, and he kept glancing across the room to where his phone was charging. 

_Oh shit, he’s going to text Ben._

“I need to pee,” you announced, standing up quickly from the couch. “Here, eat the rest of it. I don’t want it.” Shoving the carton of froyo into his hands, you took off towards your bedroom, where you had haphazardly tossed your phone earlier. 

“But you said—” Joe started, turning to watch your hasty retreat. 

“Changed my mind!” you shouted frantically, slamming the bedroom door behind you. Snatching your phone off the bed, you slipped into the bathroom and closed and locked the doors on both sides. It was accessible from both your bedroom and Joe’s, and the last thing you wanted was for him to walk in while you were trying to get ahold of Ben to fix your mistake. 

“Oh my god, please pick up,” you whispered, tapping the phone icon beneath his name in your contact list. “Please let me get to you before Joe does.” The line rang twice before the deep, familiar voice of Ben Jones answered. 

“To what do I owe this very unexpected call?” 

“Ben, I fucked something up, and I really need you to not say anything to Joe or anyone else, and I’m so sorry, I don’t know how it happened, it just…came out! I didn’t mean to, and now I don’t know what to do!” Your words were too jumbled to comprehend. “Woah, slow down, princess,” he instructed, “I can’t understand what you’re saying. All I got from that was Joe’s name. Is he alright?” 

“This isn’t about Joe,” you hissed, “and don’t make me say his name, or he’ll hear me.” Ben was silent for a moment, making you think he might have hung up on you. 

“Okay, so Joe is fine,” he repeated. “What’s this all about, then?” Taking a deep breath, you tried to slow your words enough that he would be able to hear them, even though you were whispering. 

“I mentioned that we’re going together to the Christmas thing at the Mazzello’s,” you said softly, “and I may have accidentally implied that we’re together. Like, dating.” 

“That’s usually what together means,” Ben said, amused. “So you told Joe that we’re dating, and now you’re freaking out. Is that right?” You knew without seeing him that he was smirking, and it enraged you. Yes, this was a problem of your own making, but the least he could do is help you out! 

“Fuck you, Ben,” you whispered angrily, “this is a big deal. It might not be for you, but I just lied to Joe for reasons I can’t explain, and now I don’t know how to fix it. I’m calling you for help, and I just…I don’t even know why I called you, actually.” Historically, Ben hadn’t been your go-to in dire situations, but because this involved him, he was really the only person who could help you figure your way out of this mess. 

“Alright, take a breath, love. Are you at your flat?” Ben asked, all hints of teasing gone from his voice. 

“Yes,” you squeaked. You couldn’t help but imagine his expression; he had a way of looking so serious, in a way that Joe wasn’t capable of. 

“I’m ordering an Uber now. I’ll text you when I’m there – meet me downstairs,” he instructed firmly. “And wear a coat, it’s bloody freezing.” _Well that’s thoughtful of him._ The rustle of his own jacket in the background yanked you back into reality, and you realized how much you were inconveniencing him right now. 

“Oh, Ben, you don’t have to come all this way—” you began to protest, but he would hear none of it. 

“See you in twenty,” he interrupted, promptly ending the call. Slowly, you stood up from your perch on the toilet seat cover, trying to process what had just happened. Was it possible that for the first time in years, Ben was actually going to _help you_? Ben Jones, who had done nothing but torment you incessantly every time you were forced to be in the same room together? 

“He’s going to kill me,” you decided, shaking off the impossible idea of him helping you out of a mess of your own making. “He’s coming here right now, he’s going to tell Joe the truth, and I’m going to look like an idiot _and_ a bitch.” _Shit._

In a matter of minutes, Ben was either going to make your life hell, or help you fix things; there was nothing to do but wait. 

* * * * * 

Stepping out into the chilled air of the evening, you were pleased to feel the frozen kisses of the season’s first snowflakes again your cheeks. The streetlights had been decorated with lights a week or two ago, giving the busy block a truly magical vibe. A black car was parked at the curb, and as you approached, Ben opened the back passenger side door and stepped out. He had a pair of earmuffs on, and a fashionable scarf wrapped around his neck, which complimented his black felt coat nicely. 

“Aren’t you a picture,” he teased, a sly grin lighting up his face. He grabbed one of the braided yarn bits on your hat and tickled your nose with the pompom on the end. The hat – which also had a large pompom on top – was maybe a bit juvenile, you knew, but it had been a gift from your father, and you loved how warm it always kept you. 

“I could say the same about you,” you said, swatting his hand away. The air was cold enough that you could see your breath, but not quite cold enough to disguise the blush rising to your cheeks. “So where are we going?” 

“Does that coffee place down the block work?” he asked, angling his head eastward. “You know, the one with the cool wall art – the living plant thing?” 

“Little Sister?” you asked excitedly. “I love that place. They have that awesome succulent wall hanging, yes, but did you know that they also serve great scones?” Ben scoffed quietly; apparently as an Englishman, he was the official authority on scones. 

“We’ll see about that,” he harrumphed. “Little Sister it is.” He angled the crook of his elbow towards you, encouraging you to slip your arm through it. 

“What, are you escorting me to a ball?” you teased, accepting his offer of stability nevertheless. Ben did look annoyingly like Prince Charming at times, you thought, but you were certainly no Cinderella. 

“No, I’m being a gentleman,” he corrected. “And I came all the way here to save your arse, so you’d do well to be thankful that I’m preventing you from slipping on an icy sidewalk.” 

The two of you were silent for the remainder of the short walk to the coffee shop. There were a few other people out and about, mostly commuters returning from late shifts, or beggars panhandling for change. Ben dug a few limp dollar bills from his pocket and placed them into the paper cup of one ragged-looking man seated on the sidewalk, and wished him a happy holiday as the pair of you continued past. The gesture was kind; you’d never known Ben to reach out to strangers in such a way. 

“Warm at last,” Ben exclaimed, holding open the glass door of Little Sister for you. Ducking your head in thanks, you peeled your mittens and hat off, and scanned the shop for an empty table. Luckily, the place wasn’t particularly busy at 10pm, so you had your choice of seating. 

“How about that table in the corner?” you suggested, glancing over your shoulder at Ben. He nodded, not really having any opinion on the subject. 

“Tell me what you want, and then maybe go grab that table,” he said, turning his attention to the drink menu on the wall. “My treat.” 

“What? No way,” you protested, pouting up at him. “I’m the one who made you come all this way, I should be the one to pay for the both of us.” 

“Just let me be nice, for once?” Ben asked. “When was the last time you let me do something nice for you?” Your mind momentarily flashed back to _the_ night, the one that had changed everything between you. 

“Fine,” you huffed, giving in. “I’ll get a medium mocha, and a chocolate chip scone, please, if that’s alright.” Ben raised his eyebrows at your selection; your sweet tooth was still intact, it seemed. 

“Chocolate everything it is,” he nodded. “See you in a minute.” Leaving him to order your snacks, you settled in at the corner table and took a moment to look around the shop. It had only been a few days since the last time you’d been here – you and Joe were regulars when work required you to be up early – but the feel of the place was different at night than it was in the daytime. At one table, a pair of students studying for exams sat hunched over their laptops, both jittery from all the caffeine they’d consumed to get them through the day. In the fireside seating area, a man sat with his nose in a book – some newly released poetry anthology you’d heard rave reviews about. You loved Little Sister because it provided the perfect place for a wide variety of people to go through their daily rhythms, whether that was reading, studying, listening to music, or just enjoying the quiet chatter of the shop. 

“Late-night snack is served,” Ben announced, placing two cups and a plate stacked with treats in the centre of the table. “The tea’s mine, of course, but feel free to try any of the scones. I figured I’d get a few, see if they’re as good as you say they are.” Ben pulled his chair out, wincing as the wooden legs scraped loudly against the tile floor. The man reading by the fire glanced up in search of the noisemaker, to which Ben responded with an apologetic wave. 

“I can’t take you anywhere,” you joked, reaching for your drink. “First it was girls begging for a selfies and autographs, now you’re disturbing the peace at local coffee joints.” Ben rolled his eyes, choosing to ignore the jab you’d made. It had been long enough since BoRhap and Six Underground now that he could go out for a meal without having too many people recognize him, and it was a relief, you knew. Joe had experienced the same thing, but had been an actor since childhood, and as such, was better equipped to handle the sudden increase in starstruck fans. 

“Being around people like Joe and I makes you glad you don’t work in the film industry, I’m sure,” Ben murmured, taking a bite of a lemon-cranberry scone. He bobbed his head in a satisfied nod, which you took to mean that you’d judged the shop’s quality correctly. 

“I’d rather crunch numbers any day, even if it bores me to death sometimes,” you admitted. “I don’t know how you guys deal with all the publicity. One red carpet event was enough for me.” You were referring, of course, to the premiere of one of Joe’s movies, to which you’d begrudgingly agreed to accompany him. The constant flashing of cameras and incessant questioning from reporters about Joe’s personal life had been too much for you; as soon as you’d returned home from the after-party, you informed your best friend that you would never be joining him for a Hollywood event again. 

“Some days I _wish_ I was an accountant,” Ben said, wistfully staring out the window. “I would definitely be able to eat scones more often.” Though you knew Ben loved acting, you heard a touch of sadness in his voice; showbiz was hard on the mind and body, and even the best actors felt overwhelmed by it all at times. Without thinking, you reached out and set your hand over his, and gave it a reassuring squeeze. 

“It’s almost Christmas, so you can throw all caution to the wind,” you said, smiling. “Joe’s mom won’t let you leave the table unless you’ve eaten your weight in meats and cheeses, so you’ll have to start expanding your stomach now if you ever want to escape the clutches of Mrs. Mazzello.” Barking out a laugh and trying not to choke on his scone, Ben shifted his hand so it comfortably enveloped your own. The intimacy of the gesture sent a little thrill through your body; it had been ages since you’d felt truly comfortable in Ben’s presence. 

“I hate to kill the mood,” he apologized gently, “but we should probably talk about the whole Christmas dinner situation.” 

“I suppose that is why I made you come all the way here, at an almost ungodly hour,” you replied, sighing once again. “I really am sorry about this, you know.” 

“You didn’t _make me_ do anything,” Ben assured you, skating his thumb slowly back and forth across your knuckles. “You had a problem, and I wanted to help you fix it.” 

“Is it even fixable?” you groaned, laying your forehead against the cool tabletop. “I don’t even know why I said anything to him in the first place; it was so stupid.” Ben waited for you to sit back up before asking you to explain exactly what had happened. 

“That makes much more sense than whatever you were trying to say over the phone,” he said, relieved. “I think you’re actually making a bigger deal of this than you need to.” 

“Really?” you asked, sceptical. 

“Really,” Ben promised. “It’s simple; we’ll say that after two years of thinking we hated each other’s guts, we realized that it was actually just unresolved sexual tension, and we decided to give things a go. We play the lovey-dovey couple from now until all our holiday parties are over and done with, and then we break things off quietly.” _Wow, maybe he should take up screenwriting. That’s fucking brilliant._

“Okay,” you nodded, chewing at your lip as you turned Ben’s idea over in your mind. “So then, if Joe or anyone asks about the breakup…we say that as we spent time with family over the holidays, we realized that we have different priorities in life, and that we ended the relationship amicably?” 

“That’s much better than saying we had a terrible row, or that one of us cheated,” Ben agreed. “Makes things easier going forward, since I assume we’d like to keep our friendships with the others.” The very idea of throwing Ben under the bus like that made your skin crawl; he was many things, but unfaithful was not one of them; you were sure of that. He’d been burned by infidelity in the past, and would never put someone in that position. 

“Ben, why are you doing this for me?” you asked softly. Ben didn’t have an overbearing mother to please at a holiday dinner, nor was bringing a date to the Mazzello’s dinner a requirement. Plus, you had two years worth of bad blood between you; what was really going on here? 

“Who says I’m doing it for you?” he laughed, smirking once again. You snatched your hand back, cradling it in your lap as if his touch had burned you; apparently, he could keep up appearances for a while, but in the end, he was still the same jerk he had become two years ago. Ben’s expression was immediately apologetic, his eyes filled with remorse. “Shit, Y/N, that’s not…” He dropped his head into his hands and let out a long, pained groan. You allowed him a few moments of silence to collect himself. “Everyone else is bringing someone to this dinner, and I didn’t want to go alone,” he finally admitted, refusing to look up at you. 

“Everyone?” you asked, raising an eyebrow. “How do you figure?” Ben sat back up, held up his hands, and began ticking off the names of the dinner guests. 

“Gwil’s bringing his fiancée, Rami’s bringing Lucy, Joe’s bringing that girl he met at the premiere after-party he and I went to last month,” Ben listed. “Your mom and Mrs. Mazzello probably aren’t on the dating scene, so they’re out, but they’re basically joined at the hip anyway, so they’re not going to be alone. And that leaves—” 

“You and I,” you finished wearily. “Yeah, okay – I get it. Everyone else is happy and partnered up, and it’s lame if we show up on our own.” Suddenly sheepish, Ben’s eyes flickered away from yours and settled on the untouched pile of scones on the plate between you. 

“I’m sorry,” Ben murmured, “I didn’t mean to imply that you’re lame for not having a real date, or that it isn’t alright to be single. I just…” he chewed on his lower lip thoughtfully for a moment, trying to come up with the right words. “Living in London isn’t nearly as fun as it used to be, because nearly all the people I love best live here in New York.” 

“You’re lonely,” you said simply. “It’s understandable, Ben. To be real with you, so am I. But,” you announced, sliding your arms back in your jacket, “we are going to this dinner together, we’re going to have a brilliant time making people think we’ve suddenly fallen in love after two years of wanting to kill each other, and it’s going to be great.” You stood up from the table and offered Ben your hand. 

“Are we just leaving these here?” he asked, gesturing towards the uneaten scones. 

“No, silly, we’ll get them put in a to-go bag so you won’t have to die of starvation in your hotel room tomorrow morning,” you said, laughing. “You can afford the carbs – it’s Christmas.” Ben rolled his eyes, but the corners of his mouth were turned up ever so slightly into what you would classify as a smile. 

“I can afford room service, you know,” he told you. “See, that’s why I bought these scones in the first place – because I finally have money, for the first time in…well, ever.” 

“Isn’t being able to afford food fantastic?” you teased, glancing up at him as you walked to the shop’s counter, plate in hand. “New York is fucking expensive – so don’t get lonely too often, or you’ll be living off corner shop scones like the rest of us.” Once the girl behind the counter had bagged up Ben’s scones, the two of you stepped back out into the night and headed for your apartment building down the block. 

* * * * * 

“I’m just going to wait here for my Uber,” Ben explained, rubbing his hands together and blowing warm air onto them. “You can go upstairs – there’s no sense in us both being cold.” 

“Did you want to come wait in the apartment?” you offered, tilting your head towards the stairs. “I’m sure Joe would be happy to see you.” 

“No, no, that’s alright,” he assured you, leaning against the wall. “He’ll just question us both about what’s going on between us, and I think we need a bit more time before we can answer him convincingly.” 

“Oh, yeah. Sure,” you nodded, crossing your arms over your chest. “So, did you want to come by again later this week and…I dunno, hang out? Make dinner together, or watch a movie, or something? So we can say that we’ve actually spent time together, I mean?” Ben nodded, immediately liking your idea. 

“Yeah, that would be perfect,” he agreed. “And that way, we can get to know each other a bit better.” _Get to know each other?_ you thought, confused. _We’ve known each other for three years now._

“You know me,” you said, frowning up at your companion. 

“Not the way I used to,” Ben reminded you gently. “Things have changed, Y/N. You’ve grown, and so have I – hopefully for the better.” He was skirting around it, but neither of you had addressed the elephant in the room yet. And maybe that was okay; there was no sense in opening up old wounds just for the sake of it. 

“Are you busy around lunchtime tomorrow?” you asked. “Joe’s going to hang out with his nephews for most of the afternoon, so we’d have the place to ourselves.” For some reason, the thought of being alone with Ben made your heart speed up a bit. Some things never change, it seemed. 

“Sure. Around noon, then?” he confirmed. 

“Noon it is.” A car pulled up to the curb, blue instead of black this time, and Ben’s phone buzzed to let him know that his ride had arrived. 

“That’s my cue to leave,” he said, smiling. “See you tomorrow.” He leaned forward and gave you a quick peck on the cheek, which you received graciously. When Ben pulled back to check that you were comfortable with what he’d just done, his eyes lingered on your lips just long enough for you to notice. You made the decision to lean back, gently denying him what he might have otherwise taken. 

“Text when you’re back at the hotel so I know your Uber driver didn’t murder you and steal your kidneys or something,” you requested as he stepped out the door. 

“The ice bath would make for a killer Instagram photo,” he joked, glancing back one last time. “But yes, I’ll text you.” 

When the car had pulled into traffic and was out of sight, you slowly crept back up the stairs to the third floor, where your and Joe’s apartment was situated at the end of the hall closest to the street. Your keys jangled in your hand as you searched for the right one, alerting Joe to your return. As soon as you made it in the door, he was on you with a million questions. 

“Were you out with Ben? Where did you guys go? Did he pay? Of course he did, it’s Ben. What did you talk about? Was it romantic, or just like a cool, normal thing?” 

“Slow down, Joey,” you protested, holding your hands up. “Too many questions all at once. I’m really tired, so maybe let’s talk about this in the morning?” Joe regarded you suspiciously, as if you and Ben might have hooked up in the coffee shop’s bathroom or something. 

“Tomorrow at breakfast and not a moment later,” he said, shaking a finger at you. “If it were anyone else, I’d let you keep it to yourself, but because it’s Ben…” 

“I get it,” you sighed, smiling wearily at your best friend. “You don’t want either of us to get hurt, you love us like siblings, blah blah blah. I know the drill, Joe.” You drifted into the kitchen and poured yourself a glass of wine before turning in for the night, and Joe kept his word; he sat quietly on the sofa, watching a movie, and refrained from asking anything else about your mysterious relationship with Ben. It was killing him, you knew, but somehow he was able to respect your request. 

You changed into a pair of comfortable PJs before settling into the mass of pillows on your bed with your wineglass and the book you’d been working on, content to spend some quiet time reading before hitting the hay. It was twenty minutes before your phone buzzed, and without looking, you knew the message was from Ben. 

* * * * * 

**Ben: Made it back to the hotel, kidneys intact.**

****

****

**Y/N: No weirdness from the driver?**

**Ben: He had one of those minibars set up in the backseat, but I resisted, just in case it was a ploy to knock me unconscious – easier to take someone’s kidneys when they can’t fight back, you know.**

**Y/N: Brilliant decision.**

**Ben: What are you up to now?**

**Y/N: Guess.**

**Ben: Midnight on a Thursday…in bed with wine and a book?**

**Y/N: How did you know?!?!?**

**Ben: Lucky guess ;)**


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ben comes over for lunch, and you finally have a much-needed discussion about what happened in LA.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll apologize now for what this turned into. I just got caught up in the dialogue and couldn't turn back. Next chapter is the Christmas dinner! Will Reader and Ben finally confess their feelings? I guess you'll just have to wait and see.

At a quarter to 12, you found yourself pacing back and forth across the living room, waiting impatiently for Ben to arrive. No matter how many times you repeated the phrase, _‘I’m not nervous, because there’s no reason to be’_ in your head, you knew it was a lie. Walking was the only way you had ever found to appropriately manage your anxiety, and the limited space your and Joe’s quaint 2-bedroom apartment provided for exercise certainly wasn’t doing you any favours.

“It’s just hanging out,” you mumbled to yourself, stopping momentarily to peek out the front window; no vehicles were pulled up at the front curb, which meant that you would have to continue pacing. “It’s just hanging out, nothing more.” _Or was it?_

Since seeing Ben for the first time in ages two weeks ago, you had been experiencing what Joe liked to call “the feels” – emotional and physical manifestations of the feelings brought on by the presence of someone towards whom one had romantic inclinations. All the telltale signs were there: the butterflies in your stomach when your eyes met, an electric thrill at the touch of his hand. The very thought that you might be on Ben’s mind at any given moment was almost unbearable. Joe hadn’t said it aloud yet, but he suspected that you had a serious case of the feels, and the one and only logical cause was Ben Jones. The anticipation and excitement building in you, knowing that you were about to see him in just a few minutes, was confusing, to say the least – especially after so much of your mental energy had been put towards being angry with him. Acknowledging that you had wasted two years on bitterness was painful; it was time you would never get back, no matter how hard you tried to wish it away. 

All of your friends – Gwil, Joe, Allen, Rami, Lucy – adored Ben, not because he was a famous actor, but because he was kind and charming, thoughtful and generous. More than that, he was a genuinely good man. Your dislike of him had been entirely based upon the events of a single night, out of all the time you’d spent in his company since meeting three years ago at Joe’s 35th birthday party. 

After Joe had questioned you upon your return from last night’s impromptu coffee outing, you had tentatively decided that maybe, Ben deserved another chance. If you had been forgiving instead of expecting perfection from him in the first place, you would have maintained your friendship, and not wasted so much time arguing over things that mattered so little in the grand scheme of things. If today, you could work up the courage to talk things out with Ben – even if he still harboured frustration towards you, and nothing changed – at least you will have done everything in your power to try to make amends for the mistakes you had made. 

The thunderous vibration of your phone against the wooden dining table pulled you from your nervous reverie, and you launched yourself across the room, snatching the phone up eagerly. _Ugh, just Joe,_ you realized, seeing that your best friend had sent you a photo. To his credit, the photo turned out to be adorable; it was a selfie featuring his two preschool-aged nephews, who he had agreed to babysit for the afternoon to give his brother and sister-in-law a well-deserved break. 

As you typed out an emoji-heavy response to the unsolicited (but incredibly cute) photo, the building’s security intercom finally rang, announcing Ben’s arrival. Being an actor, he was constantly required to maintain a tightly regulated schedule, so he tended to be punctual, even when an event had no hard start time. At the end of last night’s non-date outing to the coffee shop down the street, Ben had suggested lunch around noon, and you offered to host, knowing that Joe would be out for the day. Cooking at home was more economical than eating at a restaurant, and although Ben might have the money to splurge now that he had played some larger film roles, you were still strapped for disposable cash. Your position at a large corporate accounting firm paid well, but New York City had notoriously high living costs, so you tried to be frugal with your spending habits. 

Hurrying over to the speaker beside the apartment door, you tried to slow your breathing so as not to sound overly eager. It wouldn’t do to seem like you’d been obsessively planning the lunch since the moment he’d suggested it, even if that was the truth. 

“Password?” you requested, pressing the speaker button. 

“Are you ten years old?” Ben snickered. 

“Nope, that’s not it,” you replied gravely. “Try again.” There was silence for a moment, but Ben was apparently willing to humour you. 

“I brought cheap wine and DVDs, please let me in?” he asked, hoping his meagre offerings would be convincing enough for you to allow him into the warm apartment complex. The temperature had dropped further since yesterday, and he was probably huddling as close to the door as possible to avoid the wind. 

“White or red?” you quizzed, stifling a giggle. 

“Oh my god, it’s so cold, Y/N,” Ben pleaded. “It’s that sweet shit you like, moscato or whatever. Just let me up before I turn into an ice lolly.” Feeling that you had tortured Ben sufficiently, you clicked the button to open the front building door. From three floors up, you could hear his teeth chattering, and when he appeared at the end of the hall, his cheeks were ruddy from the cold, and his nose was dripping. 

“Holy shit, how cold _is_ it out there?” you asked, alarmed. Ben just shook his head and pushed past you, stepping into the warmth of the apartment. In his left hand he clutched the promised bottle of wine, and in his right, he held a stack of DVD cases. He set both down on the dining table, as well as his coat and scarf, before he leaned over the back of the nearby sofa and pitched himself forward, landing with a pained groan on the plush cushions. The fuzzy green blanket draped over the back of the sofa went with him, and he quickly unfolded it so as to wrap himself into a toasty human burrito. 

“Since you felt it so necessary to make me wait out there with the polar bears, would you mind putting the kettle on?” he asked, snatching up a tissue from the box on the coffee table. “Black if you have, and Earl Grey if you don’t, please.” Feeling terribly for playing such a stupid little game with him in this weather, you hurried into the kitchen and did as he had asked, grabbing the special box of tea designated for your and Joe’s British friends from the top shelf of the cupboard. 

“How do you take your tea?” you called out into the living room. Ben hadn’t moved an inch; his legs hung over the arm of the sofa, being too long to actually fit comfortably. 

“Two cream, one sugar,” he answered with a dramatic sniffle. Knowing Ben, he would jokingly pretend to have caught a cold just to spite you, but you were willing to baby him and play along a bit, in light of your earlier rudeness. Once you’d turned on the element and set the kettle over top, you made your way out into the living room to check on your guest. 

“I’m sorry, Jonesy,” you said as you approached the sofa, feeling truly remorseful for your actions. “If I’d known it was so awful out there, I would have let you up right away.” Ben’s eyes remained closed, and his arm was draped over his forehead as if he were a maiden collapsed on a fainting coach. Rolling your eyes (but smirking at his convincing performance), you sat on the coffee table and reached for Ben’s hand. He hadn’t worn gloves, it appeared, and his skin was cool to the touch. Like a Venus fly trap, his fingers closed tightly the moment your hand came into contact with his, and he gave no indication that he’d be releasing you anytime soon. _Serves you right for taking the bait,_ you thought. _He lured you right into that one._

“I’ve died of hypothermia,” he whispered, peeking at you from beneath the arm covering his face. “There’s only one way to bring me back to life...” 

“I’m not giving you mouth to mouth, Ben,” you deadpanned, playfully swatting his arm with your free hand. Based on the stupid grin now plastered across his face, that was exactly what he had been planning on suggesting. 

“Slightly more effective than true love’s kiss, I’ve heard,” he laughed, bringing his other arm down from his face to rest across his broad chest. “Thought I’d ask, just in case you were willing and interested.” The very mention of kissing brought blood rushing to your cheeks; was he reading your thoughts? 

“Remind me why I invited you over again?” you questioned him, trying to wiggle your hand free from his grasp. “If you don’t let me go, you’re never getting that tea.” He released you immediately, knowing better than to test your limits. Tea was important, and it had been far too long since his last cup. 

“You’ve finally gotten over your hatred of me, after all these years, and you’ve agreed to fake-date me for two weeks to assuage my loneliness.” You hadn’t said anything about your recent change of heart, but it seemed that Ben had picked up on it anyways. He was being too silly to have a serious discussion about it now, but maybe after dinner, you could work up the courage to initiate that discussion. 

“Is it for your sake, or so that my mom and Mrs. Mazzello won’t make another online dating profile in my name as an attempt to ‘catch me a husband’?” you asked, pressing your lips together. Their efforts were getting truly desperate, and it was painful to watch. How pathetic was it to have your parent searching for your future spouse because she thought you incapable? 

“It’s for the both of us,” Ben said sincerely. “Christmas is supposed to be magical and happy, and if other people can’t let us just enjoy it without trying to set us up with their ‘handsome’ nephew, or ‘Jill from this project I did last year’, then we have to take things into our own hands.” You stared at Ben, mouth agape; he was totally right, and you couldn’t not acknowledge it. 

“You’re really fucking smart sometimes, you know, right?” Ben rolled his eyes at your compliment, but the colour rising in his cheeks told you that he appreciated it. “No, Ben, I’m serious. Christmas _is_ supposed to magical, dammit, so why should we have to suffer just because we aren’t where people expect us to be in life? We can make our own magic.” The kettle started to whistle in the kitchen just then, so Ben begrudgingly relinquished your hand and allowed you to attend to it. 

You had heated enough water to make tea for Ben and hot chocolate for yourself, so you took out two mugs; Ben would have to make do without a teacup, as you and Joe weren’t fancy enough to actually own any. You designated the “I’m an accountant, not a magician” mug for yourself, and the “Mind the Gap” souvenir mug Joe had purchased in London for Ben’s tea. 

“Need any help in here?” Ben’s warm voice asked, startling you. He had given up his comfortable seat on the sofa to join you in the kitchen. 

“Nope, I think I’ll be alright,” you said, smiling. “I may be an American, but I think I’m still capable of putting a tea bag into a cup of water without supervision.” 

“Sorry, sorry,” Ben apologized, throwing his hands up defensively. “Just didn’t want to be that rude guest that expected to be catered to. It’s not like I’ve never been here before. I know where you keep all the dishes, after all.” 

“No, thank you for offering,” you acknowledged, “I shouldn’t have been so snarky. You just wanted to help.” Ben chewed on his lower lip as he leaned against the counter, not sure what he should do with himself now that he was in the kitchen. 

“Maybe I could get started with the lunch prep,” he suggested. “Did you have something specific in mind, or…?” 

“Not at all,” you answered, spooning hot chocolate powder into your mug. “We’ve got meat in the fridge that Joe bought yesterday, lots of spices and ingredients to make sauces, carbohydrates in various shapes and sizes. Maybe poke around the fridge and the pantry, and we can figure things out from there?” Ben was amenable to your plan, so as you finished with the drinks, he began rustling around in your cabinets. 

A small dark shape came darting out of your bedroom as Ben jostled a bag of dried beans, which sounded remarkably similar to the sound pet food made when shaken; the animal skittered across the tile of the kitchen floor, its tiny paws clawing for purchase. Startled, Ben stepped back, bumping into you just as you’d picked up your mug to take a sip of hot chocolate. He recognized the furball as a cat, not some sort of hairy demon, but it was too late for the lovely white blouse you’d chosen to wear that day. 

“Ouch!” you yelped; the water had just come out of the kettle, and had been cooled only a little by the milk you had added to the mixture. Ben turned around quickly, and his eyes went wide as he realized the mess he had caused. Tears sprung to your eyes at the pain of having burnt your skin. 

“Shit, take the shirt off,” he instructed, “or it’ll burn you more.” He snatched the mug from your hand and set it down on the counter as you peeled the sopping fabric of your shirt away from your chest. “Into the washroom, love,” he encouraged, setting an arm around your back as he guided you down the hall. “We need to get cold water on you or it’ll burn worse.” 

Before you knew it, you were sitting on the edge of your bathtub in your bra and jeans, leaned back against Ben’s body so that the gentle spray of cool water from the showerhead clutched in his hand was only hitting your upper chest. Ben stood in the centre of the tub fully clothed, and his sweater, jeans and socks were getting wetter by the second. He didn’t care a bit, though, because the only thing on his mind in this moment was making sure you were safe. 

“How’s it look?” you asked, too nervous to look down at your own body. What if you had a terrible burn, and you would need skin grafts? Your mind always jumped to the worst-case scenario. Ben was stood above you, so he was in the best position to describe the damage. 

“You’ve got a splash of pink from your collarbones to just above your bra,” he said, his voice trembling as he spoke, “but it doesn’t seem to be blistering or anything. Hopefully it stays that way.” You felt his body shaking behind you, so you glanced up at him, hoping that he wasn’t about to fall or something. To your surprise, the muscles in Ben’s neck were taut, and he looked as if he were trying hard not to cry. His gaze met yours for a moment, but he looked away quickly and brought a hand up to wipe the wetness pooling in his eyes. 

“Ben, what’s wrong?” you asked, alarmed. “Why are you crying?” 

“Jesus Christ, Y/N,” he cursed, shaking his head. His vision was trained on the far wall, and he avoided glancing down at you as best he could. “This is all my fault.” 

_“What are you talking about?_ This was an accident.” Although you had wanted to stay calm with him, you weren’t succeeding; the cool water soothing your skin was the only think keeping you from leaping up to confront him. Ben blamed _everything_ on himself, whether he was at fault or not, and this tendency of his had always infuriated you. 

“If I hadn’t bumped into you, this wouldn’t have happened,” he said, repeating his claim to the blame for your injury. “I’m so fucking sorry, Y/N.” 

“Ben, shut up,” you ordered. “The cat scared you, I was standing too close, and the stupid hot chocolate got spilled. This isn’t your fault at all, so don’t you go blaming this on yourself.” The anger in your voice was unnatural, and Ben knew it; his body was stiff against your back, as if he were holding still to keep from upsetting you any further. You closed your eyes and settled in against him, and that ended the conversation. 

The two of you were silent for the next 15 minutes, both lost in thought. From what Ben had learned in a first aid course he had taken as a precaution prior to a European hiking trip he and Joe had taken together the year before, he knew that burns should have cool water applied to them for around 20 minutes. He mumbled this down at you when the allotted time had passed, and once you had nodded in confirmation, he slowly turned the shower faucet off. 

“How does it feel?” he asked gently; his voice no longer sounded choked, as it had earlier. 

“Hurts, but not too bad,” you shrugged, playing off the pain. It was true that it hurt less than earlier, but the idea of putting on another shirt and having the fabric touch your burnt skin was beyond painful. As if reading your thoughts (and not for the first time that day), Ben carefully set his hands on your shoulders and rattled off a few more points about burns he remembered from his first aid training. 

“So, you’ll want to put something on that won’t touch your skin, but if you don’t care about being shirtless, that’s probably the safest option,” he said, smartly avoiding his usual tendency to add innuendo to such comments. “And if you’ve got a first aid kit, I can see if there’s any ointment meant for burns in it. Thankfully, it doesn’t look like there is any blistering, so this is similar to a bad sunburn. Hurts, but you don’t need to go to the hospital for it.” 

Your legs felt a bit shaky, but you managed to stand up from the edge of the tub. When you turned around to face Ben, you couldn’t help but giggle; he was soaked through. 

“Oh, Ben,” you murmured, covering your mouth with the back of your hand to stifle your laughter. “You’re going to have to take that off if you want to be able to leave the bathroom. Ben’s cheeks flushed pink, but he too started to laugh. 

“There’s not a chance I’m fitting into anything of Joe’s, is there?” he asked, pressing a hand to his forehead. You shook your head, amused; Ben was much broader, and _much_ more muscular than Joe. “Shit, I should really start keeping a change of clothes here.” 

“Sucks to be jacked, doesn’t it?” you teased. “I can check Joe’s dresser to see if he’s got a baggy pair of sweats or pyjama pants, but those rugby thighs are gonna make things difficult. You’re definitely out of luck with shirts.” 

“If you’re not going to wear a shirt, it’s only fair that I don’t either,” Ben said, shrugging. “You go check on the trouser situation, and once we’ve dealt with that, you can go sit and watch telly, and I’ll make some sandwiches. Nothing hot or wet for you, just in case.” 

Luckily for Ben, Joe’s mom had bought him a pair of black sweatpants that were a size too big, but he had forgotten to exchange them, and it had long passed the return-by date. After grabbing a towel from the small linen cupboard in the hall, you returned to the bathroom and handed the sweatpants and towel to Ben, who was greatly appreciative. 

“Would you mind if I took a quick shower to warm up?” he requested politely. “I promise not to waste too much hot water.” The thought of him being naked in your apartment was too much for your brain to handle right now, so you just nodded and waited for the right words to appear in your head. 

“You know you don’t have to ask,” you reminded him. “Joe has always told you you’re welcome to everything we have here – food, booze, clothes – everything.” 

“I know Joe is fine with it, but are _you_?” 

“Yes, you’re fine to shower,” you confirmed, setting the pants and towel down on the lid of the toilet seat. “Toss your wet stuff outside the door and I’ll hang them to dry, alright? You’ll need them later.” You excused yourself to wait in the hall as soon as Ben began to tug the collar of his shirt over his head, wanting to give him some privacy. Really, it was best for everyone, including yourself, if you didn’t stand there and watch him strip down. Even in your Ben-hating days, you had been hard-pressed to not acknowledge that he was gorgeous. 

As requested, the bathroom door opened a bit, and out tumbled Ben’s wet clothes, with the exception of his underwear. Apparently, he wasn’t willing to let you dry them, or perhaps they weren’t wet enough to need it. Although the building had a laundry room in the basement, you were sure that the clothes would dry just fine if you hung them above the floor vent in the dining room, which is where you dried most of your delicate clothes anyway. Before you returned to the living room, you changed into a dry bra; the wet one hadn’t been particularly cute, so you exchanged it for one with a lace band, and a pretty little pink bow between the cups. 

As promised, Ben’s shower was quick. Only once did you hear the rise and fall of his voice as he sang a little tune; he stopped as soon as he remembered that he wasn’t alone, or in his own apartment back in London. You had barely had time to sit down and find a decent show on Netflix before the bathroom door swung open. 

“Yes, I left the fan on,” Ben called out before you could even ask. “And I tossed my towel in Joe’s hamper.” His bare feet padded across the hardwood, and you glanced over towards the kitchen just as he reached the fridge, which you could see over the half-walls separating the kitchen from the open living and dining areas. His hair was wild, having been towel-dried, and a few droplets of water still clung to the skin of his shoulders and back. 

“Did the pants fit?” you inquired, pausing your show so that you would be able to chat as he prepared the sandwiches. He set the necessary ingredients out on the far counter, where he could see you as he prepared them. 

“I wouldn’t wear them in public, but they’ll work for the time being,” Ben said, smirking to himself. “As you so aptly put it, my ‘rugby thighs’ make it difficult to find trousers that fit right. Why, did you want me to put on a little fashion show for you?” 

“Oh, shush,” you snorted, as if you were appalled by the idea. “Just put some meat on bread and come out here. We should…we need to talk about something.” You weren’t sure why you had added that last bit, but now was as good a time as any to address the elephant in the room. Ben froze, and his eyes flickered up to meet yours. 

“Please tell me you’re not pregnant with Joe’s baby,” he said, his face dead serious. “That would really complicate this whole Christmas dinner thing.” Your cat, the real culprit of the burn incident, had left one of her toys on the sofa, so you picked it up and pitched at Ben’s head. The catnip-filled mouse soared across the room and hit him square in the forehead, causing him to erupt into laughter. “I’m only joking, Y/N, don’t pitch a fit.” 

“I hope Darcy eats you,” you countered, folding your arms across your chest. “She’s a real monster, even though she looks innocent.” Hearing her name called, your year-old cat crawled out from her hiding place beneath the coffee table and hopped up onto the sofa, hoping to be pet. 

“I didn’t know you had a cat,” Ben said, placing the final touches on the sandwiches before setting them on two plates. “How long did it take you to convince Joe to get one?” Although Joe loved animals, it had indeed been challenging for you to bring him to the light; you had lived together for eight years, but it had only been a few months since you had rescued Darcy from a shelter in Brooklyn. 

“Forever,” you complained, patting your lap to encourage Darcy to snuggle up to you. Ben would need a spot on the couch, so the little fluffball needed to vacate his seat ASAP. “But as soon as he saw her, he was in love, so it wasn’t actually that hard once I got him to go with me to the shelter. He’s a big softie, just like you, Jonesy.” 

“That’s a lie,” Ben objected loudly, putting on a deep, gruff voice. “I’m a very tough and masculine man, with no emotions, and no partiality towards any animal except Frankie.” Plates in hand, he left the kitchen, and was pleased to see that you had made space for him beside you. As soon as he caught sight of little Darcy curled up on your lap, he knelt down to pet her. “Oh, look how sweet she is,” he cooed, drawn in by the cat’s bright amber eyes. 

“Yeah, yeah, she’s very cute,” you nodded impatiently, “and I’m very hungry, so let’s see if you’re capable of making a decent turkey sandwich.” 

When you had both finished eating lunch, you set the plates on the coffee table and turned sideways on the sofa, so you were facing Ben. Darcy had left a few minutes ago to curl up on your bed, so there would be no distractions. You hadn’t intended on having this conversation while both of you were shirtless, but it would have to happen either way. 

“I want to talk about LA,” you began, taking a deep breath. “It’s been two years, and we’ve just let things get worse and worse between us instead of talking about it like adults. So, I figured, since we’ve got the apartment to ourselves, we should just get it over with.” Ben swallowed hard; this was nerve-wracking for both of you. 

“How do we even start?” he asked, staring at his lap. “So much has happened.” 

* * * * * 

Two years ago, you had gone with Joe to Los Angeles, where all your BoRhap friends were meeting. It was several days before the Oscars, and Rami had suggested an evening out on the town, as most of you lived elsewhere. An LA native, Rami knew all the hottest hangouts in the city, so the group of you went out to a popular VIP club, where there wouldn’t be the issue of fans constantly asking for photos or autographs. Everyone danced and drank the night away, especially Joe, who ended up blackout drunk by the end of the night. It was decided that you and Ben would be responsible for getting Joe back to the hotel safely, so an Uber was called, and the three of you left the club for the night. 

Joe had asked his agent to book adjoining rooms for the two of you, as well as rooms for Gwil and Ben. Somehow, the booking was mixed up, and the adjoining rooms were assigned to you and Ben. It wasn’t a big deal, Joe insisted, because you would be together all the time anyways. Well, it did matter, because Joe forgot his room key _in his room_ earlier in the night, and Ben (who wasn’t exactly sober either) had to convince the concierge to unlock Joe’s room. Eventually, Ben managed to get Joe out of his party clothes, and you set out some Advil and two glasses of water on the bedside table, for when he woke up the next morning. 

You and Ben bid each other goodnight, and returned to your respective rooms, which became hilarious when you both realized at the same time that the adjoining doors were still open. It made you laugh until you were in tears, at which point it became clear that you were both absolutely wasted. In an attempt to sober up, Ben called down to the front desk and asked that a pot of coffee be brought to your room, and you shared it out on the joint balcony. The late-night air was warm, but a gentle breeze made it comfortable enough to stand against the railing and look out at the city. 

“It’s beautiful here, in a completely different way than New York is, or London,” Ben observed, lighting up a cigarette. He was right, of course. Even at night, it was impossible for the City of Angels to be dark; an orange haze hovered on the horizon long after the sun went down, probably created by the accumulation of lights from all the buildings, streets, and vehicles. 

“Does it make you miss being home in London?” you wondered aloud, glancing over at the handsome blonde beside you. His eyebrows furrowed as he thought over your question, and it was a while before he answered. 

“I don’t think I would say London is really ‘home’ anymore,” he said eventually, blowing a smoke ring out into the ether. “I don’t spend long periods of time anywhere, so I’ve had to redefine what home looks like.” 

“How does Chelsea feel about you being gone so often?” _How does your she feel about you getting drunk with me?_

“Not tonight, Y/N,” Ben groaned, frustrated that you would bring her up _now_. “Please, just for one night, let’s not talk about Chelsea.” 

“What would you rather talk about?” you challenged, turning towards him. Ben dabbed the end of his cigarette against the railing to put it out and tossed it over the edge of the balcony, where it fell to the pavement below. 

“Who says we have to talk?” 

* * * * * 

“You were so angry,” Ben recalled. “I couldn’t understand how, if I had told you I loved you, and you felt the same way, you could still be so angry.” If you closed your eyes, you knew you would be able to replay the scene in your head; it had played on the back of your eyelids every time you thought of Ben for a year. 

“You had a girlfriend,” you said evenly. “You may have loved me, but _she_ was your girlfriend.” _And no one wants to be the mistress_. 

“I broke up with her for you.” 

“The damage had already been done.” 

“But how?” he asked, his volume rising. Realizing that he was getting worked up, Ben took a deep breath, held it, and let it out slowly; he needed to calm down. 

“Anyone who will cheat _with_ you, will cheat _on_ you,” you answered, repeating the phrase your mother had always told you. “I loved you, Ben, but I wanted to be with someone faithful; I couldn’t trust that you would be.” 

“Oh.” Recognition and understanding flashed in his eyes. “Yeah.” 

“I, um, I called Roger after that, to ask him what he thought I should do,” Ben explained. “If anyone could give me advice about infidelity, it was Roger Taylor. His advice…well, I hated his advice, but I knew he was right, was to let you go. I wasn’t the man you needed then, and I would ruin your life if I tried to be.” 

“I’m not sure _I_ was even the person I needed to be,” you said earnestly. “I let myself get involved with you, even though I knew it was wrong, and I hated myself for becoming that person. I hated you for instigating it.” Ben winced at your words, even though he saw them coming. 

“And all I can do now is say how truly sorry I am,” Ben shrugged. “I can’t ever take my actions back; I cheated on my girlfriend, and felt justified in doing it because I was enamoured with you. I thought it was love at the time…but I know now that love isn’t selfish like that.” 

Both of you were quiet for a moment, letting it all sink in. It hurt, as opening old wounds always did, but it was also the only way the two of you were ever going to heal your friendship. You felt confident now that you had learned from your mistakes, and that Ben had as well. That was a good start. 

“Will you forgive me for being an asshole for two years, and not explaining why I was so angry?” you asked, meeting Ben’s eyes hopefully. “I loved being your friend, and I’m tired of us fighting all the time.” Really, you still wanted to be more than a friend, but it was probably best to start from the beginning. 

“It’s water under the bridge,” Ben answered, reaching out to tuck a stray hair behind your ear. “I’m sorry for ruining our friendship, and for being so daft about it for two years. If you’ll let me try again, I’d like to be your friend.” 

“I forgive you, Ben,” you promised, smiling up at him. The moment felt monumental for you both, but when you looked around the room, nothing had changed. There had been no confetti, no choir of angels singing congratulations for working things out. 

“So…that’s that, then?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. “We’re friends again?” 

“Yep,” you said, bobbing your head in affirmation. “And now that we’re friends again, you should let me put my feet on your lap while we watch a shitty movie together.” 

“You’re not going to kick me out of your flat just yet?” Ben asked, smirking. “Not tired of me just yet?” 

“No, I _definitely_ want you to leave, like, right now,” you teased, “but your pants are still wet, and you’ll get arrested for gross indecency if you go outside wearing Joe’s sweats.” 

“Are they really that bad on me?” Ben asked, glancing down at his lap. “Oh, Jesus, yes they are.” His face flushed red, and he grabbed the closest throw pillow to set onto his lap. “How could you not have mentioned this until now?!” 

“I didn’t want you to think I was staring at your crotch!” you exclaimed, throwing your hands up indignantly. _As if_ he was making a big deal about this. 

“Friends tell their friends when their entire dick is visible through their trousers!” 

Joe chose that moment to step into the apartment, having heard every word for the last 30 seconds as they reverberated through the stairwell of the building. Standing in the doorway, his arms laden with shopping bags filled with gifts, Joe stood and watched as his two shirtless best friends, who, to his knowledge had started dating a total of 24 hours prior, argued about how revealing a pair of his own pants were on Ben. 

“What is going on here?” he hollered, bringing your discussion to a screeching halt. “ _Where_ are your shirts, and _why_ is Ben in my pants?” Wide-eyed, you and Ben stood up from the sofa and covered yourselves, madly scrambling to think of an excuse that made any sense. 

“The cat came running out—” 

“—the hot chocolate was REALLY hot, not enough milk—” 

“—And the shower water got all over my socks…” 

“—the fucking first aid kit!” 

Releasing the breath he had been holding for much too long, Joe turned away without another word and retreated to his bedroom. Dropping his bags on the floor, he launched himself toward his mattress and belly-flopped onto it like a ragdoll. 

“God, if you’re listening up there, it’s me, Joseph Mazzello the third. I take back everything I said about wanting Ben and Y/N to sleep together. They never taught us in catechism about how to take back an accidental prayer, so I hope I’m doing it right...”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ben's hotel room booking is mysteriously cancelled, forcing him to spend the night with Reader and Joe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I said this would be the Christmas party, but I finished a scene at exactly 4k and it felt like it was meant to be...because otherswise, this chapter will end up being 8k long. NEXT chapter will for sure be dinner with the Mazzellos!

“Y/N, can you grab the door?” Joe hollered from the kitchen, his words muffled by the bagel he had shoved into his mouth. “I’ve got eggs cooking on the stove here, and I don’t want to burn them.”

“On it,” you replied, sliding your slippers across the hardwood as you headed for the door. 10am on a Sunday was a little early for the dude down the hall to come begging for a cup of flour, or to borrow your vacuum, but since you and Joe were both awake anyways, it didn’t bother you. Usually, you would have checked through the peephole in the door for safety, but you had just woken up, and weren’t yet at 100% brain function. 

“What’s up, Warren? Forgot to buy milk again?” you asked, yawning as you pulled the door open. To your surprise, it was not your neighbour waiting in the hall; it was Ben, who was grinning widely as he took in the view of you in all your Sunday morning, messy-haired glory. “Ben! Hi!” you yelped, your eyes wide with surprise. “What are you doing here?” 

“Sorry to intrude,” he apologized, “but long story short, the hotel fucked up my booking, and I need a place to hang out while I try to book a room somewhere else for the rest of the week.” You stepped back, still shocked by the sight of Ben, who, unlike you, was washed up and dressed for the day. His tapered dark-wash jeans and forest green Henley fit him perfectly, hugging his body in all the right places; if you hadn’t snapped your gaping mouth shut, you might have just drooled right on the doormat, he looked so good. 

“The more the merrier!” Joe called from the kitchen, his mouth now bagel-free. “Had breakfast yet, Bennie? I’m making eggs and toast, and maybe bacon if Y/N asks very nicely.” Ben leaned in, pecked you on the cheek as he had when he last saw you, and tucked his suitcase into the coat closet, where it would be out of the way. Why he was willing to get that close to you when you hadn’t even brushed your teeth yet was unclear; you considered the possibility that he was actually just a very handsome alien attempting to assimilate into human society. 

“Cute outfit, princess,” Ben remarked, giving the bottom hem of your shirt a playful tug. His eyes grazed over you in what could only be described as flirtation, but again, this idea was impossible to you; your hair was greasy and haphazardly arranged in a messy bun atop your head, you were wearing an old Yankees t-shirt Joe had given you plus a pair of plaid flannel pants that had been ripping at the waistband for a year, and your face was devoid of makeup. Why was Ben looking you up and down like you were a runway model? 

“Yeah, I, uh, just woke up,” you mumbled awkwardly, crossing your arms over your chest to cover up the fact that you weren’t wearing a bra. “Didn’t expect visitors, or I would have actually showered…which is what I’m going to do right now. Bye!” You left Ben standing in the living room and made a beeline for the bathroom. He stared after you, sighing as he wondered whether you realized how adorable you looked in the morning. 

You showered as quickly as you could, so as not to prevent the boys from being able to use the toilet if they needed; if Ben hadn’t been standing in the living room, you would have stood in the warm spray of water for another 10 minutes, just enjoying the steam and heat. In your haste, you accidentally grabbed Joe’s dandruff shampoo instead of your own, which you noticed only once you were trying to towel-dry your hair in front of the mirror. 

_Why the heck does my hair smell so weird?_ you wondered, rubbing a bit of hair between your fingers. _Feels weird, too._ When you pulled the shower curtain back, you saw that Joe had set his shampoo on your shelf, and moved yours to the shelf he usually set his shampoo and body wash on. _Shit! I hope this stuff won’t make my hair dry funny._

“Y/N, breakfast is ready!” Joe said, knocking on the bathroom door. “Hurry up, or your bacon and eggs will get cold and gross. Or Ben will eat them; he’s a hungry boy, you know.” 

“Take your time,” Ben called out from the dining room, “I’ll keep Joe’s dirty paws of your bacon.” 

_How sweet,_ you thought, trying to suppress your smile as you inspected your face in the mirror. _Thank the dermatology gods for not making me break out this week._ Before you could leave the bathroom, you brushed your wet hair into a ponytail, braided it, tied the braid off with a clear hair elastic, and styled the braid into a fancy bun. After tossing your ratty pyjamas in the hamper beside the door, you wrapped yourself in a plush bath towel and skittered across the hall into your bedroom, which was thankfully not visible from the dining table. The last thing Ben needed to see was you in a towel; you didn’t think your poor little heart could handle such a thing. 

_What the hell do I wear that’s nice, but doesn’t make it seem like I’m dressing up just because he’s here?_ you wondered, tearing through the shirts hung up in your closet. When your hand brushed up against a soft, blush-pink sweater, your body decided before your brain that it was the right choice. If being around Ben was going to make you a nervous wreck, you might as well be dressed in something comfortable. The rest of your outfit seemed to pick itself; blue slim-cut jeans, your birthstone necklace to match the sweater (a round pink tourmaline with a small opal set on either side), and a pair of plain white ankle socks, so no one would have to see your dancer’s feet. Because you had no plans to leave the house today, you went for a simple makeup look: mascara and lip gloss would do just fine to highlight what you felt were your two best features. 

Darcy, your fluffy black cat, pawed at your bedroom door, begging to be let out into the apartment, where she could smell warm bacon; this was your cue to head for breakfast, too. The cat darted into the hall as soon as you had opened the door enough for her to slip out, her tail flickering back and forth behind her like a flag in the wind. 

“Hey, kitty-cat!” Joe greeted her as she sidled up alongside his chair. “Want a bit of bacon?” 

“She’ll have high cholesterol if you keep feeding her fatty people foods, Joe,” you scolded gently, following the cat into the dining area. The boys were seated across from each other, and a plate for you (covered with tin foil to keep it warm) was set out beside Ben. Seeing Joe’s dismayed expression at not being able to share a treat with Darcy, you sighed, and conceded. “She can have one little bite, and that’s all.” 

“And this is why you love me better then Y/N, don’t you, Darce?” Joe asked, giving the cat’s chin a good scratch. “There’s my good girl.” He dropped a small bit of bacon onto the floor in front of Darcy, and she was on it faster than she had attacked the single mouse you had discovered scurrying around the below-the-sink cupboard last month. 

“Good morning, sunshine,” Ben said, reaching out to give your hand a squeeze. “How was your shower? Refreshing, I hope?” Sliding through the small space between the back of his chair and the wall, you made it to your chair and flopped down into it. 

“It was great, until I realized that I had used Joe’s shampoo instead of mine,” you complained, giving your roommate a dirty look. “Can’t even blow dry my hair now, or it will probably look all funny.” 

“Not possible,” Ben said through a mouthful of scrambled egg. “You always look lovely, dry hair or otherwise.” Joe made a retching sound, disgusted by his friend’s affectionate words. 

“You’re too sweet, Ben,” you replied, making doe eyes and fluttering your lashes in mock flirtation, just to make Joe squirm. Ben caught on to the little game you were playing, and when he had finished chewing, he set a hand along the back of your chair and leaned in close, setting his lips a hair’s breadth from your ear. 

“Maybe if we make him feel weird enough, he’ll leave,” Ben whispered, allowing his cheek to momentarily touch yours. “Nothing too raunchy, of course, but just enough to make him want to leave the flat for an hour or two.” You giggled, both as an answer to Ben’s suggestion, but also because the plan was brilliant. It would be so much easier for both you and Ben if Joe weren’t here, scrutinizing your every interaction. 

Ben’s face was still right against yours, so you pressed an obnoxious kiss to his cheek, leaving a lip gloss mark on his skin. He drew back, returning to his seat, and stared Joe right in the face, as if to challenge him to say something. 

“Problem, Joe?” Ben asked, taking a sip of his orange juice. Your roommate glanced wearily between the two of you, as though he was beginning to regret allowing Ben to stay for breakfast. 

“Nope, not at all,” Joe replied graciously. “I’m just glad to see that you guys have finally worked things out. I was getting really tired of hearing you constantly bicker over everything.” Ben glanced at you out of the corner of his eye, daring you to say something. Joe was faster. 

“In fact, I was thinking that since Ben’s having hotel issues, he could just stay with us until he has to go back to London,” he announced, surprising both you and Ben. “Doesn’t make sense to have him pay for a hotel when there’s a perfectly good bed for him to use here.” _That wasn’t in the plan, Joe! Stop!_

“Oh, I don’t want to intrude,” Ben began to protest, looking to you for help, but Joe stopped him, holding up his hand. 

“No, I _insist_ ,” Joe articulated, leaning back in his chair. “I’m sure Y/N won’t mind sharing her room with you, now that you guys are a thing.” If your roommate had bothered to look to you for confirmation, he would have seen that you were staring daggers at him. Was he really insinuating that you and Ben should share your bed for a _week_? 

“Sure, that’s fine,” you heard yourself say aloud. “Ben can stay with me.” As you said this, Ben’s large hand settled on your thigh and gave you a gentle squeeze; the gesture was reassuring. 

“I don’t want to put you out, darling,” Ben demurred. “I can just make up a bed on the sofa for the night, get my hotel situation arranged, and we’ll be golden.” 

“The sofa is two feet too short for you, and you might be paralyzed when you wake in the morning,” you said, denying his alternative option. “Really, it’ll be fine. You grab your suitcase while I grab some fresh bedding, and we’ll get you set up in there.” When you grabbed your empty plate and stood up from the table, it was clear that the discussion was over. Once all the dishes had been stacked, you whisked them off into the kitchen, poured a dab of soap into the sink, and ran the hot water so as to wash up. 

“Joe, what the _bloody hell_ are you playing at?” Ben hissed angrily. Joe checked that you were occupied with the dishes before leaning forward to answer his friend. 

“I’m helping you, you idiot!” Joe whispered back, his eyebrows furrowed in annoyance. “You and Y/N must think I’m pretty stupid if you think I don’t know what’s going on here.” 

_“What are you talking about?”_

“You guys are totally pretending to be together!” Joe retorted. “Did you really think that I wouldn’t notice how weird you’re being? You guys are terrible at faking it.” Ben’s expression darkened. 

“You’re wrong,” Ben growled, his voice lower than usual. “I love her, so don’t you dare—” 

“Oh, I’m not disputing that,” Joe interrupted, his eyes wide. “You guys are totally crazy for each other, that’s obvious. You’re just bad at being not-really-together, and everyone who knows you well will notice that someone’s not right.” Ben crossed his arms over his chest and stared down at the table where his plate had been sitting. A small puddle of orange juice sat on the wood, reflecting an image of the light fixture overhead. 

“She doesn’t feel the same way,” Ben sighed, focusing his vision on the orange juice puddle. “Y/N’s just going along with it so her mom will leave her alone about not having a boyfriend.” Joe snorted comically, stopping himself only when he realized that Ben was being serious. 

“You think she isn’t head over heels for you?” Joe asked, incredulous. He tossed his head back and let out a long, quiet groan; how was he ever going to fix you two up if you both insisted on being so clueless? “Shit, Bennie, you guys are hopeless!” 

“ _Please_ don’t tell her you know,” Ben pleaded desperately, begging Joe for mercy with his soft green eyes. “It’s ridiculous, I know, but I need to win her back, and this was the only way I could think to do it.” 

“That’s why I’m _helping_ you,” Joe explained, smacking his forehead in exasperation. “I thought that maybe, if you stayed here with us, you’d get to spend a ton of time together, and that would fast track things for you!” Ben stared at Joe, unsure of whether he wanted to punch him or kiss him for his meddling. 

“So…did you call the hotel to cancel my booking?” Ben asked, narrowing his eyes. “That was a nice fucking hotel, Joe, and I wanted Y/N to come by for lunch one of these days.” Joe shook his head profusely, adamant that he hadn’t been _that_ meddlesome. 

“That was entirely coincidental,” Joe promised, making a mental note to text Gwilym later and swear him to secrecy. He had asked your other British friend to make the call and cancel the room, which Gwil had been more than happy to do once Joe had explained the situation. 

“Well, I guess we’ll have to see how this goes,” Ben said, pressing his hands over his face. “Best case scenario, we figure something out. Worst case scenario, she kills me in my sleep.” 

“That cat is more likely to smother you than Y/N,” Joe opined, “but if you need help, just scream!” 

* * * * * 

“So, um, how do you want to do this?” you asked, glancing from your freshly made bed to Ben, who was sitting atop your desk in a pair of pyjama trousers and a Led Zeppelin t-shirt. His hair wasn’t as perfectly styled as it had been this morning, but he still looked like he belonged in a freaking Calvin Klein ad; he also looked exhausted. 

“Why, do you sleep differently than most people?” Ben wondered, quirking a curious eyebrow. Shaking your head in mock annoyance, you crawled onto the bed and lay on the side that was up against the wall, crossing your arms over your chest self-consciously. This was the mark of a perpetually single person who never brought anyone home – a bed against the wall. You hoped Ben wasn’t judging you for it. 

“Turn the lights off and get in bed,” you instructed, refusing to look at Ben for fear he would notice your blazing red cheeks. Somehow, your brain had convinced you to wear a pair of shorts (very short) and a tank-top with a built-in sports bra to bed, which you were now regretting; you were so exposed, and Ben was literally going to be _right beside you, all night._

“Do you usually…sleep on top of the comforter like that?” Ben inquired gently, not wanting to be rude. “It’s alright if you do. I can just grab a blanket from the linen cupboard…” 

“No!” you said quickly, scrambling beneath the blankets. “Sorry, I just – I don’t know what I was thinking.” Ben approached the bedside table, turned on the lamp, and went back to turn off the overhead light. 

“Do you mind if, uh, I sleep with my shirt off?” he asked, biting his lip awkwardly. “I can leave it on, it’s just not as comfortable.” Swallowing hard, you shook your head. 

“That’s fine,” you murmured, glancing away to give him a moment of privacy. Ben grasped the back collar of his shirt and tugged it over his head in one clean movement, just like every hot guy did in every film. _He is an actor, after all._

“Thanks,” Ben said appreciatively, folding his shirt and setting it on the desk, where he had been sitting earlier. When he turned around, your breath caught in your throat; he was beyond gorgeous, even in the dim lighting of the bedside lamp. 

“Holy fuck,” you whispered beneath your breath, willing yourself to close your eyes and stop ogling the poor man. He was bound to notice sooner or later, and the last thing you wanted was for him to be creeped out by the way you were staring. 

“What was that?” Ben asked, pulling the comforter and top sheet down so he could climb into bed beside you. 

“Nothing,” you shrugged, pretending you hadn’t said anything at all. The mattress dipped beneath his weight, and you felt the space beneath the blanket grow warmer within seconds of him yanking the comforter over himself. He squirmed around for a moment, adjusting himself until he was in a comfortable position. Like a girl at a sleepover, he supported his head with his hand and faced you. 

“So…do you want to talk for a bit before we go to sleep?” 

“Uh, sure,” you nodded, surprised by this development. Surely, after a day of being forced to spend every waking minute with you and Joe, he would just want to sleep. “What do you want to talk about?” Ben pressed his lips together and shifted his eyes upwards as he thought about it. 

“Tell me about…your job,” he prompted. “Joe said a while back that you’d received a promotion. I’m sure you were very deserving.” Leave it to Joe to tell Ben everything about you, even when you were talking. 

“Oh, yeah, I guess I did,” you smiled, feeling slightly embarrassed by Ben’s praise. Even when you had hated him, you still really cared about what he thought of you. Now, his opinion mattered even more. “Well, when I originally started at my firm when I was 22, I was a staff accountant in the audits department, which is a bottom-rung, basic accounting position. I’ve worked my way up in the ranks since then, and now I’m the senior manager of audits, which is as high as I can go, unless I’m offered an executive position.” You gave a few more details about the position, which you were sure would bore Ben to death, but he listened to you attentively, asking questions when appropriate. 

“That’s really impressive,” Ben said earnestly when you had finished speaking. “I’m sure the company’s executives are very impressed with your dedication. You’ve been there, what, 14 years now?” 

“Shit, Ben, just tell me I’m old, will you?” you teased. “Yes, I’ve spent 14 years learning _literally_ everything there is to know about the way money is made, spent, and moved around within a company. It’s probably not as thrilling as acting, but I like the work I do, and I’m really good at it.” 

“That’s what matters the most, isn’t it?” Ben asked, smiling. “Enjoying what you do?” 

“I guess it is,” you agreed, nodding thoughtfully. “What about you – do you enjoy the film star life? Travelling, working with other famous people, making me cry during all the emotional, heart-wrenching scenes?” 

“You watch my movies?” Ben asked, beaming. 

“Of course I do – you’re an incredible actor,” you enthused, shifting your body to mirror Ben’s position. “I always go with Joe on opening night, unless, of course, you invite him to your premieres and I have to go _alone._ ” As you made the accusation, you pouted your lips and pretended to be greatly offended by being shirked in favour of Joe. 

“That was only like, two times,” he protested in mock irritation, reaching out and jabbing you in the side with his fingers. You screeched with laughter and wiggled backwards, out of Ben’s reach, which only encouraged him more. “Plus, you never asked, princess! If you wanted to come, you should have asked!” Ben’s hands wrapped around your waist and he tugged you against him, tickling you until you had exhausted yourself. Your giggling eventually died down, and as it did, you realized how close the two of you were. Your hips were pressed directly against his, and you had but to tilt your chin up for his lips to meet yours. When he looked down at you, he almost went cross-eyed because you were so near. 

“You did that on purpose,” you whispered, your forehead creasing as you frowned up at Ben. He nodded, _yes_. With a tentative hand, you reached up and traced the line of his jaw with your fingers; his blonde stubble was faint, but you felt it scrape against the pad of your thumb like sandpaper. Ben remained motionless, barely breathing for fear of breaking the spell between you. 

“GUYS, guess what’s on TV right now?” Joe bellowed, barging into your bedroom without warning. You screamed in fright, Ben fell backwards out of bed as he tried to quickly untangle himself from you, landing with a hard thump as his body hit the floor. The wind was knocked right out of him, so for a moment, he just stared at the ceiling, unable to draw a breath. “Oh shit! Sorry,” Joe grimaced, his eyes wide with surprise. 

“Get the FUCK out, Joe!” you screeched, grabbing a pillow from your bed and pitching it directly at his head. “Fucking knock before you come in, asshole! We could have been naked!” You scrambled to the edge of the bed to check on Ben, whose expression resembled that of a fish left out on the dock. “Ben, what’s wrong? With a shuddering gasp, Ben sucked in a breath for what felt to him like the first time in an hour. 

“I’m going to kill him,” Ben groaned, squeezing his eyes shut. You whipped your head towards the door, but Joe had disappeared, and in his place sat little Darcy, licking at her paws. Slowly but surely, Ben sat up, and with your help, made it back into the bed. Once you had encouraged Darcy into the room with the gentle nudge of your foot, you kicked the door shut and twisted the knob, locking it, as you should have done earlier. 

“Do you need a glass of water or anything, Jonesy?” you asked, returning to the bed to see how Ben was recovering from his fall. He shook his head, instead patting the empty mattress beside him, his way of asking you to lie back down. When you had tucked yourself up against his side, you nestled your head against his warm, bare chest and tossed an arm over his torso. After pressing a kiss to the side of your head, which resulted in him getting a mouthful of hair, Ben turned the bedside lamp off and closed his eyes. His back and chest still ached, and it hurt to breath too deeply, but he had you in his arms, which felt like a win. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the day of the Mazzello's annual Christmas dinner, and Ben's got plans of his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part 1 of 2 for the Christmas dinner! Don't worry, this series isn't done yet!

The morning of December 23rd, the date of the Mazzello’s annual Christmas dinner, rolled around faster than you thought possible. In true New York City fashion, it was snowing when you woke up; fat, white flakes of the stuff floated past your bedroom window on the way to the ground. If you weren’t trapped in Ben’s vicelike grip, you would have crawled out of bed, thrown open the window, and stuck your head out to try and catch a snowflake on your tongue. Snow in the city never stayed clean for long, but Joe always said that so long as it hadn’t touched the ground yet, it was probably fine to eat.

On the topic of eating, your stomach began to growl, alerting you to the fact that you hadn’t eaten in more than 12 hours. _Maybe,_ you thought, _if I wiggle downwards, I can sneak out from under Ben’s arm without waking him up._ The man was a heavy sleeper, especially when he was exhausted, which he certainly was. The two of you had been up late every night, talking about anything and everything, except your relationship. 

Ever since Joe had so rudely interrupted your almost-kiss, Ben had acted a bit different. He still flirted outrageously, spent nearly every waking moment of his day by your side, and slept beside you at night. You would start out on separate sides of the bed, but it was inevitable that by the time morning rolled around, you would be tangled together in the centre, having kicked all the blankets to the floor because Ben’s furnace of a body provided enough heat for the both of you. 

Despite all of this, however, Ben hadn’t made another move, or allowed himself to get as close to you as he had that first night he stayed over. What had changed? You weren’t quite sure. What _hadn’t_ changed was the bubbly feeling you got every time you thought about Ben. It was becoming harder every day to not just scream ‘JUST KISS ME ALREADY!’ in his face. 

Unsure of how to deal with the return of your long-ignored emotions, you had phoned Lucy, who had flown from London to LA to spend a few days with Rami’s family before the two of them would join the rest of you in NYC. She had expressed an exorbitant amount of joy at the idea of you and Ben finally getting together, but was also a great sounding board when it came to your concerns. You swore her to secrecy, and begged that she not tell anyone else, even Rami, that you and Ben weren’t _technically_ a couple. It would just make everything so much more challenging, especially with your mother, if someone were to let it slip. 

Your stomach growled louder, and the rumbling was concerning you. Hadn’t you read somewhere that if you went long enough without eating that your stomach would start to digest itself? You didn’t know whether that actually was true or not, but you weren’t interested in testing it; either you would extract yourself from Ben’s iron hold, or you would wake him up in the process. 

Very slowly and carefully, you began to wiggle your body downwards, figuring that the width of your hips would pose a problem if you tried escaping the other direction. It took a minute or two, but eventually you managed to shimmy down far enough to sit up straight and just step out of bed. Ben continued to snore peacefully, showing no sign of waking anytime soon. With a sigh of relief, you tiptoed to the bedroom door and slipped out into the hall, gently closing the door behind you. 

The apartment was completely silent, with no sign that Joe was up just yet. Usually, he got up early, turned on the TV and watched the morning news as he brewed a pot of coffee and ate a bowl of cereal; in the absence of coffee-smell, you figured you had free reign of the bathroom for the time being. 

Today was the one day a year you put any _real_ effort into curating your look. The Mazzello’s dinner was a semi-formal event, meaning that you were expected to wear a nice dress (which you avoided at all costs at work), spend time curling and styling your hair, and have your makeup done well. Rhinebeck, the town where you and Joe had been raised, was a two-hour drive from your apartment in Queens, and your mothers would expect the two of you (plus your dates) to arrive in good time to help get everything set up for the dinner. If it was 8:00 now, and you’d need to leave by noon to get there and lend a hand in the kitchen, that left you about four hours to get ready. That was enough time, right? 

Once the shower was running at the right temperature, you discarded your clothes into the hamper and stepped in, pulling the sheer curtain closed so as not to soak the bathroom floor. Because Joe was smart enough not to walk in while the water was running, you left the door unlocked as usual. With today being an important event, you made sure to choose the right shampoo, instead of just grabbing what was handy. Once your hair was all soapy, you reached past the curtain and grabbed your razor and shaving cream from the cabinet above the toilet. In honour of tonight’s event, had chosen a burgundy cocktail dress that cut off just above your knee, so although you could usually get away with not shaving for a few weeks, you would need to get your legs cleaned up for tonight. If you didn’t, your mother was sure to bring it up at an inopportune moment (as she did with most things she disapproved of). 

Once you had propped a leg up on the edge of the tub, you lathered your skin with shaving cream and set to work. Ben chose this moment to enter the bathroom, without knocking. He was mildly awake, but clearly hadn’t thought to listen for the sound of running water before coming in. 

“Ben, what the fuck!” you exclaimed, nearly slipping on the wet tub floor. You caught hold of the grab bar on the wall with your free hand; your leg stayed where it was, as it was half-done, and you didn’t want to sacrifice the remaining shaving cream. The blonde turned his head and squinted his bleary eyes in the direction of the shower. “Hi. I’m naked. What can I do for you?” you asked, perturbed by his unannounced intrusion. _You don’t get to leave me hanging for a week and then show up for the good stuff,_ you grumbled in the back of your mind. 

“Whoops, sorry,” Ben apologized, averting his gaze by turning towards the wall. “Sorry, Y/N, I thought Joe was showering. I heard someone pouring food for the cat in the kitchen and assumed it was you.” 

“Do you just need to brush your teeth, or…?” 

“Have to piss, too,” Ben mumbled, not mincing his words. “It’s fine, I can wait a bit.” 

“I think I’ll live,” you said sarcastically. “Just do your business, and we’ll both pretend this isn’t happening.” 

“Oh, are we pretending we’ve never seen each other naked?” he inquired, pulling the shower curtain back far enough to poke his head in. “Because we both know that’s not true.” His hair, which you could previously only see as a blonde blur through the curtain, was standing up in all directions. His expression was serious, not playful as it had been for the majority of the past week. 

“Close the curtain or get in, Jonesy. You’re letting all the nice steam out,” you snapped irascibly. “And don’t you dare piss in the shower.” Ben whipped the curtain shut, and for a moment, you wondered if maybe you had gone too far with your suggestion; he wasn’t responding at all, snarkily or otherwise. “What are you doing out there?” you asked, bristling at being ignored. 

“You said I can’t piss in the shower,” Ben replied sharply, “so I’m doing as you’ve asked.” _Oh._ So he _was_ going to take you up on your mostly-sarcastic offer. That didn’t upset you nearly as much as you thought it should. Realizing that you had still only shaved half of one leg, and you were about to have company, you quickly scraped off the remaining shaving cream with your razor. You were going so fast that you ended up nicking your skin, which earned an involuntary “Ouch!” 

“Alright in there?” Ben asked concernedly, setting the toilet lid down. Your apartment building had a weird plumbing system, and had Ben flushed the toilet, the shower water would have become unbearably hot for a period of about 10 seconds. Thankfully, he was aware of this fact. 

“Just cut myself shaving, no biggie,” you replied, scrunching your nose in annoyance as a line of blood dripped down your shin and splashed onto the floor of the tub, where it mixed with the shower water and ran pink into the drain. The metal rings holding the curtain scraped against the bar holding it up, and Ben stepped in behind you, directly into the stream of water. 

“Let’s see,” he said, tilting his head to get a better look. Clucking his tongue in mock concern, he shook his head. “I don’t know, love. Looks like it might need to be amputated.” 

“Shut up and wash your hair,” you snorted, trying not to laugh. “We can’t be late because Mr. Fancypants Hardy didn’t budget enough time for his stylist.” 

“Oh, hush,” he retorted, bumping his bare shoulder against yours. “As if you’re not about to use up the entire morning trying to decide what shade of lipstick goes best with your dress. I _know_ you, Y/N Y/L/N.” 

“We’ll see about that,” you sniffed, keeping your back to Ben as you moved on to shaving your other leg. He hummed quietly to himself as he washed up, and the scent of his shower gel, sandalwood or something manly, filled the steamy space. It was a remarkably comfortable experience for both of you, though neither of you would admit it willingly. 

“I was thinking we could go grab donuts at Little Sister this morning, and then…do a different thing,” Ben said vaguely, breaking the silence after a few minutes. “If you want to, that is.” You glanced over your shoulder in time to watch Ben run his hands through his hair; it took all your strength to refrain from reaching up and _helping_ him. 

“If you want to, sure,” you replied, curious as to what the ‘different thing’ might be. “As long as we don’t run out of time to get ready.” When you leaned your head back to rinse the shampoo from it, your hair brushed against Ben’s back, sending a delightful shiver up his spine. As lovely as it was to be so close to you, it was taking all his willpower to keep himself from running his hands all over you. All he had to do was turn around and sweep you into his arms – you would let him have his way with you, and he knew it. 

“Did you sleep alright last night?” he wondered aloud, trying to keep the fantasies running through his mind at bay. “Weren’t too cold when you woke up this morning?” Your laughter rang out, reverberating off the shower walls. 

“How could I ever be cold next to _you_?” you teased, sneaking another look over your shoulder. “You’re basically a human furnace, Jonesy. I’ll never need a blanket with you around.” _Shit, did that sound needy?_

“So you _do_ like being in bed with me,” Ben said triumphantly, smirking as he turned to face you. At the same time, you had spun around, opening your mouth to backtrack on your previous statement; the last thing you needed was for Ben to think you were some needy freak who expected him to stick around for the rest of eternity. Ben’s eyes met yours, and in a moment of sheer thoughtlessness, he allowed his gaze to rove over your body. You returned the favour, drawing in a breath as you took in _all_ of him for the first time in two years. He was more chiselled than you remembered, likely as a result of the action movies he’d done recently. 

“Wow, holy fuck, okay,” you stammered, ripping your gaze from his skin and back up to his face. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to stare.” You covered your eyes with your hands to keep yourself from temptation. 

“I could say the same,” Ben murmured, letting out a low whistle. “If we had more time this morning…” he trailed off. 

“If you had more time, then what?” you asked, lowering your hands from your face. “What would you do, Ben?” Swallowing hard, Ben stepped towards you and set his hands against the tile wall of the shower on either side of your head; you followed his lead, allowing your back to press against the cool tile as well. His chest was nearly touching your own, and the water from the shower dripped down his face and onto your body. You shivered, both from the dearth of hot water, and in anticipation of what Ben might do. _He could just be flirting, playing tricks like he always does,_ you reminded yourself. 

“I can think of a few things,” he smiled. Slowly, _achingly_ slowly, Ben’s face inched towards yours until your lips were almost touching. “Is this what you want?” 

“Please,” you breathed, your voice almost a whine. 

“Joe’s in the living room,” Ben cautioned, “so you’ll have to be quiet, love. Can you do that for me?” You nodded in affirmation, desperate for him to set his hands on you, to kiss you, to do _anything_. 

“It’s been too long, baby,” he groaned softly, dipping his face to kiss you languorously – just once – before dropping to his knees before you. 

_Huh,_ you thought indifferently. _I might not make it to this dinner party._

* * * * * 

When Ben held out a hand to assist you out of the Uber, he made it clear that he had no intention of letting go; once you were safely on your feet, he laced his fingers through yours and gave your hand a firm squeeze. His surprise plans post-donut breakfast turned out to be a trip to the salon, where Lucy and Rami were waiting to meet you. When she caught sight of you and Ben waltzing down the sidewalk hand-in-hand, Lucy squealed with delight and looped her arm through Rami’s, as if to include him in her excitement. 

“Y/N, darling, it’s so good to finally see you!” she cried out, throwing her arms around you when you were within hugging distance. “Oh my god, it’s been ages. And look at you - you’re absolutely glowing today!” 

“Isn’t she?” Ben said fondly, releasing you into Lucy’s embrace. As soon as Lucy released you, she explained the plan for the next hour and a half: Ben and Rami had some quick errands to run, while the two of you had hair, makeup, and manicure appointments – a treat from the boys to relieve the stress of trying to get ready all on your own. 

“It was all Ben’s idea,” Lucy told you, a sly smile creeping over her face. “Though knowing our Benny, I’m sure this isn’t your first _treat_ of the day.” Your cheeks flushed bright red, sending Lucy into a fit of laughter. 

“And we’ll be off, ladies,” Rami announced, leaning in to press a kiss to his partner’s cheek. She refrained from kissing him back, because her lipstick was particularly vibrant, but when her eyes met his, her unspoken ‘I love you’ was received loud and clear. Although Rami was much older than Lucy, and you had originally been sceptical about what they could have in common at such different stages in their lives, you had come to see just how much they adored and respected each other. 

“Keep an eye on her for me, Luce,” Ben requested teasingly. He pulled you into a crushing hug, kissed the top of your head with an exaggerated smooching sound, and held your face between his hands, his eyes twinkling down at you. “I’ve only just got back into her good book,” he murmured loud enough only for you to hear him. 

“Okay, keep it in your pants, Jones,” Lucy groaned, pushing Ben towards Rami. “Save it for the dinner party. I’m sure if Mrs. Mazzello were to walk in on you two, it would liven things up a bit.” 

“Gross, she’s basically my second mom, Lucy,” you moaned, disgusted. “Ugh. Okay, you two go do whatever it is you need to do – we need to get pretty for this party.” 

“Already are,” Rami called over his shoulder, smiling back at the both of you. “And easy on the champagne, babe. There’ll be plenty of wine tonight.” Lucy made sure Rami saw her roll her eyes before tugging you into the salon, which she told you was her favourite in New York. 

“They do the prettiest French manicures,” she gushed, “and they can do anything you want with your hair. Everyone who’s anyone comes here.” She dropped her voice to a whisper and pulled you close. “Apparently Beyoncé gets her nails done once a week here – and gets diamonds set in the polish. Can you imagine being so rich you can afford to put fucking diamonds on your nails?” Usually Lucy couldn’t care less about other actors and celebrities, so it amused you to hear her discussing the local gossip. 

Lucy went for a traditional manicure, but you decided that a bit of sparkly polish would compliment your outfit nicely today. Not wanting to be too matchy-matchy with your dress and nails, you enlisted the nail technician and Lucy to choose an appropriate colour, and they suggested a black base with a layer of holographic glitter over top. 

“‘Holo’ is all the rage right now,” the nail tech informed you as she shaped your nails with a file. “It’s not quite the same as other kinds of glitter because when you shine light on a holographic glitter, it shifts through the full spectrum of the rainbow.” She demonstrated the effect of the glitter by rolling the bottle beneath her desk lamp, which entranced you and Lucy. 

“That’s what I want next time I go to an awards night,” Lucy said decidedly. She had her heart set on having French tips today, but you could tell that the shimmer of your holographic polish was making her have second thoughts. 

Once your manicures had finished drying, you moved to the styling chairs on the other side of the room to have your hair done. Lucy had photos saved on her phone to show the stylist, but you weren’t quite sure what you wanted just yet. Your stylist started on your makeup instead, following your request for a natural look. Lucy, of course, would go for some sort of dramatic eyeliner, as she liked to do on special occasions. The bold looks she preferred would have made you look like a circus clown, you were certain. The salon’s doorbell rang as someone entered, and a moment later, Ben’s reflection appeared behind you in the mirror. 

“Aren’t you the vision of perfection?” he admired, setting a warm hand on your shoulder. “Glad you waited to do your hair – I have something for you.” From behind his back, Ben produced a round box, similar to one you’d seen in a period film recently. 

_A hat box!_ you recalled, accepting the gift from Ben. 

“This better not have been expensive, Ben,” you warned him, “or I’ll make you take it back.” 

“No returns, sorry,” he murmured, smirking as he met your eyes in the reflection of the mirror. “That’s not how this game works, love.” Shaking your head, you set your hands on either side of the circular lid and slowly lifted it from the box in your lap. Inside, wrapped in tissue paper, was an adorable cocktail hat – known in England as a fascinator – that would perfectly match the dress you had chosen to wear to the dinner. 

“This is beautiful, Ben!” you exclaimed, lifting the hat from the box. It was meant to be work tipped at a slight angle, which explained why Ben had been concerned about the way your hair would be done. Not all styles were conducive to such a statement piece; it would need to be positioned just so and pinned in firmly by the hairstylist. The fascinator had twists of a mesh-like fabric that resembled the petals of a flower, and loops of burgundy sinamay surrounded by feathers of the same colour making up the central portion of the flower-shaped hairpiece. It was delightfully whimsical, but not so ridiculous as some of the hats you’d seen ladies wear on the broadcast of the most recent royal wedding. 

“Since you’re going to accompany an Englishman to a dinner party, I thought you needed one of these. They’re very common in the UK,” Ben explained, “and I thought this one would suit you well.” After Rami cleared his throat from across the room, Ben rolled his eyes and clarified that “Rami helped, too.” 

“Are you sure you aren’t taking her home to meet _your_ mum, Jones?” Lucy teased. “She looks like the lovely sort of girl an English mother would love for her son to bring home for the holiday.” 

“This is a very sweet Christmas gift, and I love it,” you smiled, angling your face up to meet Ben in a gentle kiss. Being the smart, showbiz-understanding fellow he was, he avoided smudging your lipstick, and didn’t even have a bit of it transfer onto his own mouth. 

“Time’s a tickin’,” Rami spoke up from behind you. “You’ve got to hit the road for Rhinebeck in about an hour, so once Y/N is done here, we’ll hail you a cab back to the apartment so you can change quickly and head out.” Ben took this as his cue to back away and give the stylists time and space to complete their work. You winked at him in the mirror, and a serene smile crossed his face. All Ben could think of was how pleased he was that the two of you were finally working things out. 

* * * * * 

Joe’s date lived in Morris Park, an Italian neighbourhood in the Bronx, which required only a few minutes’ detour from your route north. Being the gentleman he was, Joe parked the car in front of her building, grabbed the bouquet of roses he had picked up for her, and went upstairs to meet her at her door. This gave you and Ben a few minutes alone. 

“Have I told you yet how incredible you look today?” he asked, taking your hand in his. He reached up and toyed with one of the feathers on your hat, bending it down to tickle your face with it. You couldn’t help but laugh. Ben lifted your hand and pressed a kiss to your knuckles. 

“You’re a hopeless romantic, you know that?” you teased, smiling up at him. “You wouldn’t sit in the front seat next to your best friend so you could sit next to me, and now you’re grinning like an idiot because I’m letting you kiss me.” 

“Oh, you’re _letting_ me, are you?” Ben asked, arching an eyebrow. Without warning, leaned towards you and began to tickle your sides through the fabric of your dress. You squirmed away, but were caught by your seatbelt. 

“Don’t ruin my dress, Ben!” you screamed, breathless with laughter. “And watch the hair and makeup – Ben!” He finally relented when the door to the apartment building opened, and Joe and his date walked out towards the car, so as not to make your guest feel uncomfortable. Joe’s date was around Ben’s age, with dark hair and eyes, and a beautiful smile. He opened the passenger door for her, closed it when she was comfortably seated, and ran around to his side. 

“Guys, this is Gianna Monaldo, a friend of mine from a film I did last year,” Joe introduced, glancing at the two of you in the rearview mirror. “Be nice to her, or you’ll have to walk to my mom’s house.” 

“Just Gia, please,” she insisted, turning around in her seat. “You must be Ben and Y/N. I’ve heard all about you both. Joe talks about you _constantly_.” 

“Aww, Joey,” you mocked him in your sweetest voice. “We know how much you miss us when you go away to work on a movie. That’s so nice of you to tell your friends about your two favourite people.” Ben jumped on the teasing train too, not willing to waste any opportunity to poke fun at Joe. He leaned forward and rubbed Joe’s shoulders, displaying his affection for the man. 

“We’re like his security blanket. It’s very hard for him to be without us for too long,” Ben explained to Gia. “He calls me every day, and asks Y/N to sing him his favourite night-night songs over the phone when he has a hard time sleeping.” In good spirit, Gia laughed along with you, appreciating your fondness for Joe. 

“You two are the worst, and I don’t know why I bring you anywhere,” Joe complained, turning off of Gia’s street to return to the interstate highway. “Well, actually, Y/N’s family has lived across the street from mine for like, 40 years, so I know why I have to bring _her_ along. Ben, on the other hand…” 

“I’d walk to you if I had no other way,” Ben said lovingly. Everyone groaned, to his disbelief. “Hey, that’s a good song, and no one can tell me otherwise.” 

“Jonesy, I adore you, but…” you trailed off with a grimace, glancing at him from the corner of your eye. He crossed his arms and pouted, refusing to look at you for a few minutes. 

Once the car had pulled onto I-95 North, Joe connected his phone to the car and played Willie Nelson’s ‘On the Road Again’, which wasn’t received much better than Ben’s song had been. It was tradition, though, you explained. Every time you and Joe had driven from NYC back home to Rhinebeck for the past 8 years, your road trip began with this song. 

“Are you looking forward to seeing everyone?” Ben asked you, drawing your attention from the scenic view of Pelham Bay Park. 

“Almost everyone,” you answered, meeting Joe’s eyes in the rearview mirror. “My mom…I love her, but she can be challenging to get along with at times.” It was difficult for you to admit, but ever since your father’s passing, your mother had been a different woman. Having Ben by your side would make things easier – at least you hoped it would. 

* * * * * 

“And here we are, Casa di Mazzello,” Joe announced as he slowed to a stop outside his childhood home. “Oh, Rami and Gwil are already here, I see.” He pointed ahead to where two rental cars were parked, and four familiar figures stood huddled together in a group. They wore jackets and mittens to fend off the cold, and didn’t seem to have been waiting long. “You two go inside, and I’ll introduce Gia to the rest of the band,” Joe said decidedly. _The band_ was, of course, the nickname for the four central members of the Bohemian Rhapsody cast, as well as their significant others. 

Snaking your arm through Ben’s, you made your way up to the door, which opened before you could even knock. Virginia Mazzello, a petite blonde with streaks of grey through her hair, stepped out and embraced the two of you. 

“You’re here!” she exclaimed, pressing a kiss to each of your cheeks. “Y/N, my beautiful girl, it’s so nice to see you! It’s been too long since you’ve come home.” When she stepped back, she looked you up and down, appraising you. She did the same to Ben. Narrowing her eyes, she looked between the two of you. “Neither of you are eating enough. How can your mother expect any grandchildren if you don’t eat anything?” You burst out laughing, which was exactly what she was waiting for. Her blue eyes twinkled brightly – mischievously; you had never doubted from whom Joe inherited his humour and troublemaking aptitude. Pleased to see you looking so happy, Virginia let you into the house, which was already buzzing with activity. Joe’s older sister, Mary, was audible from the kitchen, giving instructions for food preparation. 

“Oh wow, did she actually just say that?” Ben whispered, his eyes wide. “Grandkids?” 

“She was completely joking,” you explained quietly, giving his arm a reassuring squeeze. “Just preparing us for my mom, really.” As if she had heard her name called, your mother came bustling out of the kitchen, her black dress protected by a holly-patterned apron. 

“I thought I heard your voice,” she said loudly, her New York accent very pronounced. “There’s my darling daughter.” Releasing Ben momentarily, you hugged her, holding her tightly for what felt like an eternity. After losing your dad, you felt that one could never hug their parent long enough to truly show them how much you loved them. 

“Mama, you’re yelling,” you murmured in her ear. “Turn up your hearing aids?” Your mother scoffed in disbelief, but did as you suggested, and found that you were correct. 

“Must have turned them down to drown out Mary,” she said, mostly as an explanation for herself. “And who’s this handsome young man here? Come on then, introduce me before I get too old to remember his name.” Rolling your eyes, you set a hand against the back of Ben’s shoulder and brought him forward. 

“Mama, this is Ben Jones, a good friend of Joey’s and mine,” you said, smiling as you glanced between your mother and Ben. “He came to dinner last year and the year before, but you might not remember him.” 

“‘Good friend’? Is that what kids are calling their boyfriends these days?” your mother inquired, giving you a dirty look. “Welcome here, Ben. I’ve known Ginny long enough to speak on her behalf and say that we’re glad to have you.” You were surprised that the two hadn’t combined households at this point; like you and Joe, invisible threads of love and companionship connected Virginia and your mother 

“It’s lovely to see you again, Mrs. Y/L/N,” Ben said warmly as he gave your mother a firm handshake. At the sound of his deep, accented voice, her eyes lit up. 

“Oh, an Englishman!” your mother exclaimed, impressed. “That explains that little hat you’ve got on, I suppose, Y/N?” 

“It was a gift from Ben, yes,” you confirmed, giving Ben an appreciative smile. “He sent Lucy and I to get our nails and hair done this morning before we left the city, too.” Your mother eyed him warily for a moment, and you felt him stiffen beside you. 

“Not planning on a proposal or anything tonight, are you, young man?” she asked sharply. Your mother had old-fashioned thoughts about men asking for a father’s blessing. Because your father had passed away, that left her to dole out blessings, of course. 

“Oh my god, Mom,” you groaned, letting your head loll dramatically. “Leave Ben alone. We haven’t been together _that_ long.” 

“Ah, too bad,” Ben said, shaking his head sadly. “I’ll tell Joe to cancel the confetti machine and the choir. Probably can’t get my deposits back.” This got your mother laughing; she liked a man with a good sense of humour. Your saving grace – or rather, your saving Mary – called from the kitchen, inquiring as to whether your mother was still keeping an eye on the gravy. 

“That’s my cue to get back to work,” your mother shrugged. “We’ll have more time to talk later, I’m sure.” As she made her way back to the kitchen, you pretended to collapse against Ben. 

“I literally _cannot even_ with that woman sometimes,” you told him. “She just asked a man who she believes to be my boyfriend of one whole month whether he plans on proposing tonight. Just _kill me._ ” 

“Who are we killing?” asked Gwilym Lee brightly, who, along with the rest of your friends, was stepping through the front door. 

“Me, please,” you requested, reaching up to hug your tall friend. He gave you a tight, squeezing hug to make up for not having seen you in months. Joe travelled regularly to London when he wasn’t working, so he had more opportunities to see Gwil and Ben. 

“I hear there’s a new man in your life,” Gwil whispered in your ear. “Let’s chat later, yeah? Ben hasn’t told me anything.” You nodded against his shoulder, but in your mind, you panicked. What would you even tell him? You and Ben hadn’t really confirmed what was going on between you. The shower sex had been unplanned, but not unwelcome, and now Ben was holding your hand and calling you sweet names. Did that make you a real couple? 

You turned to look at Ben, who was hugging Gwil’s fiancée, Dana, beside you. His smile was easy, and he seemed happy to be amongst friends again. As he released Dana, his eyes met yours, and he winked playfully. You and Ben still had the physical chemistry you’d been fighting with for the past two years; that much was clear. But what if the events of the past few days were just the results of close proximity and both of you having been (unintentionally) celibate for months on end? 

“Babe, are you alright?” Lucy’s voice cut through your thoughts, yanking you back into reality. She and Rami were regarding you curiously, though the others were still trying to shuffle past Mrs. Mazzello in the front entry. 

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you smiled wanly. “Just trying to remember if I packed my mom’s and Mrs. Mazzello’s Christmas gifts or not. I thought I put them in the trunk, but…” 

“I’ll go out to the car and check,” Ben offered, gently grasping your wrist and running his thumb across your skin in a gesture of assurance. 

“I’ll, uh, come with you,” you said quickly, glad you hadn’t removed your shoes yet. This might be your only chance to be relatively alone with Ben for the rest of the day. 

“I don’t think searching the trunk is a two-person job, Y/N, but I could be wrong,” Joe teased. “Don’t take too long now, you lovebirds.” Leave it to Joe to make things weird and announce to the world that you wanted to have a private discussion. 

“Two pairs of eyes are better than one,” Ben told him, guiding you back towards the door. “We’ll be back in just a minute, Mrs. Mazzello. Forgot something in the car.” In an effort to keep warm air in the house, your hostess closed the front door once everyone had moved either in or out, leaving you and Ben alone and in silence on the snowy driveway. Safely out of the crowd, he released your wrist and strode towards the car, keys in hand. You followed slowly, trying to collect your thoughts. 

“Everything okay, love?” Ben inquired, momentarily glancing back at you as you walked out towards the parked car. You chewed at your lip, wondering how best to broach the subject. Most DTR discussions happened in a more comfortable, safe setting; it was cold as hell outside, and you had maybe three minutes before your mother was hollering for you to come back in and help out in the kitchen. 

“What are we?” you heard yourself blurt out. _Shit._ That was nowhere as smooth as you’d hoped it would be. Surprised, Ben stopped mid-step, turning around slowly to face you. 

“How do you mean?” he frowned. When he saw how unsure you looked, how vulnerable, he opened his arms wide, drew you in, and held you tight against his chest. His heartbeat was faster than normal, but that could have been because he had been walking quickly, or because of the cold. 

“What’s happening with us?” you asked quietly, not daring to look him in the eye. “Is everything – the cuddling, the gifts – just for show? I realized that we haven’t actually talked about _this_ , just the ‘not hating each other anymore’ thing.” Ben rested his chin atop your head and sighed; was he annoyed, or just overwhelmed by your question? 

“This is the worst possible time to talk about this,” Ben murmured, his breath creating plumes of visible condensation in the chilly air. “Everyone is probably watching through the front window, so that’s awkward.” 

“Not ideal,” you acknowledged. “I’ll try my best not to cry, or stomp away angry if you say something I don’t like.” Ben laughed and hugged you tighter. 

“Your mother will kill me if I tell you how I really feel,” he warned, kissing the top of your head, “so I’ll save that for later. But for now, just know that I adore you, and that you’re so much more to me than a dinner date.” 

“How much more?” you prompted. 

“Enough that I postponed my flight back to England for another two weeks.” _This_ was news to you. 

“Are you serious?” you gasped. “Ben, what about seeing your family for the holidays? You’re supposed to fly back on New Years’ Eve!” He chuckled, brought you close again, and began swaying you back and forth in his arms, right in the middle of the street. 

“I don’t need to be with them, silly,” he smiled, kissing the tip of your nose. “All I want for Christmas is _you_.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One Italian Christmas dinner plus one girl allergic to fish - what could go wrong?

“Alright, alright,” Mrs. Mazzello called out, raising her voice above the din. “Let’s take our seats so we can say grace and get this dinner started!” You and Joe were covered in children, having spent the last hour entertaining his siblings’ little ones; he had three nephews and two nieces, and was always more than willing to share the child-minding duties with you.

“Let’s get you guys to the kids’ table, huh?” Joe said excitedly, pointing to the small table set up in view of the main dining table. “Nonna made special juice just for you guys, _and_ Auntie Y/N printed out some colouring sheets for you!” Screeching with excitement, the kids tumbled out of your lap and scurried towards the table, getting into a small squabble over who got the pink cup and who got the green one. 

“Busy little buggers, eh?” Ben said, grinning widely as he extended a hand towards you. Grasping it firmly, you allowed him to help you up from the floor. 

“Oof, I forgot how much work they are to entertain,” you huffed, pretending to wipe sweat from your brow. “Not sure how their parents can keep up.” 

“We can’t,” Joe’s older sister Mary interjected, taking her seat at the table. “It’s exhausting to have two toddlers and a newborn.” 

“We’re overwhelmed with just two,” her brother John piped up, putting his arm around his wife’s shoulders. 

“And that’s why Joe and I are unmarried and childless,” you joked, finding your place card set beside Ben’s. Already seated beside you, Gia glanced over, her eyes wide with surprise. 

“Do you and Ben not want kids?” she inquired curiously. Ben, who was partway through a glass of water, choked a bit. Your cheeks flushed red at the very idea of having children with Ben. Things were so new between the two of you that it had never really been discussed. You didn’t dislike children, and Ben didn’t either; it just wasn’t even on your minds at the moment. 

“We, uh, haven’t really talked about that,” you laughed awkwardly. “I guess the clock is ticking for me, but Ben’s not even 30 yet. We’ve got plenty of time for that discussion later.” Your mother glared at you from across the table, willing you to change your tone immediately. 

“I’m sure you’re aware that the chances of a child being born with _difficulties_ goes up the older a mother is,” your mother remarked, folding her napkin across her lap. “Something you two should really be considering.” Joe, seated to Gia’s right, cleared his throat loudly in an attempt to change the subject. 

“So, who’s saying grace tonight?” he asked, looking to his mother for instruction. In the old days, your father or his would have given thanks for the meal, but that responsibility usually fell to himself or John as of late. Mrs. Mazzello nodded to John, and everyone present bowed their heads as John said a short prayer. Ben’s elbow brushed lightly up against yours, prompting you to open your eyes and look towards him. He bobbed his head towards your mother, and mouthed the word, _Sorry_ , as an apology for your mother’s rude and unnecessary comment. You shook your head; it was no fault of his, and you hadn’t asked or expected him to speak on your behalf. It was typical behaviour on your mother’s part. 

“Amen,” spoke John, followed by a chorus of _amens_ from the assembled guests. Dishes and plates began making their way around the table in a counter-clockwise fashion, as instructed by Mrs. Mazzello, and within a few minutes, you had a full plate of assorted Italian Christmas favourites. Pasta was a given, as were plenty of other carbohydrates. Joe had requested gnocchi, as he did every year, and Mary didn’t disappoint. 

“Calamari, Y/N?” Gia offered, passing a dish in your direction. Wanting to be polite, you reached for the plate to pass it along, but before you had even touched it, Ben had whisked the dish out of Gia’s hands and on to Gwilym and Dana. His quick thinking had been appreciated; the very thought of squid invited a flashback to a traumatic childhood trip to the emergency room. You frowned, trying to remember when you had told that story to Ben; it must have been years ago. 

“She’s got a seafood allergy,” Joe explained through a bite of ziti, pointing at you with his fork. “And as I’m sure you’re aware, no _real_ Italian Christmas can exclude seafood, so Y/N just doesn’t touch anything that’s come in contact with any sort of sea creature.” 

“I’m so sorry, I had no idea,” Gia apologized, but you waved her off. There was no cause for concern. There was probably no issue with touching the bottom of the dish, and if you had been worried, you would have washed your hands before eating anything. 

“Not a big deal _at all_ ,” you assured her. “Not sure why the Mazzellos actually let me hang out with their kids, being allergic to fish and all, but they’ve been nice enough to let me keep coming to these dinners for the last few decades.” 

“So you and Joe have been friends since you were kids?” Gia wondered, looking to you for confirmation. Joe tapped her shoulder and pointed to the large bay window that looked out onto the front yard. 

“See that window on the top floor, far left?” he asked. “That’s where Y/N used to sit and wave to me every day before school, to make sure I was going to meet her outside. She was really scared of taking the bus alone, so I kept her safe.” 

“Uh, not _every day_ ,” you countered, shaking your head. “Remember the one day you didn’t wave from the window? The time you were sick in bed with the chickenpox?” Joe burst into laughter at the memory. 

“She waited for like, half an hour, missed the bus, and then called her mom on the phone, _crying_ , saying that I’d _DIED_.” Gia’s mouth dropped open in disbelief, and you let out a long groan, remembering the day all too clearly. Ben shifted his chair closer to yours, listening curiously to the story. 

“How was I supposed to know you weren’t dead?” you protested, throwing your hands up. “I was six years old, Joe!” 

“Mrs. Y/L/N told her to come across the street and check on me, and Mary let her in,” Joe explained, “and Y/N came upstairs to my room, where I was just hanging out, playing with toys or whatever. She was so shocked to see me all covered in spots, you’ll never guess what she did.” He grinned maniacally at you, relishing every moment of this story. Ben and Gia were hanging onto every word, barely paying attention to their food at this point. 

“I’d like to preface this by saying that I’m an only child, and had never seen anyone else with chickenpox,” you defended. “How was I supposed to know it was contagious? I was six!” 

“She counted my spots – literally _touched_ my infected skin,” Joe said, shaking his head in mock disappointment. “Ridiculous. And two weeks later, guess who was home sick with the chickenpox?” Gia laughed, and Ben set a sympathetic hand on your leg. 

“My brother got the chickenpox when we were in primary school, and my parents made me share a bed with him for a few days so I would get it too,” Ben recalled. “Guess it made the most sense to get it over with all at once, if you could.” 

“I think they actually have a vaccine against the chickenpox now,” Gia said, looking to Mary and John for confirmation. “They combine it with the MMR, now, right?” 

“Yep, so no itchy kids for me,” Mary said happily. “It’s bad enough when they get colds. I can’t imagine one of them having something like chickenpox or measles.” The conversation shifted to babies once more, so you turned your attention back to your meal. 

“Y/N, have you tried one of my devilled eggs?” your mother asked, pointing to a tray in front of her; apparently, she had forgotten about your 30-year dislike of mayonnaise. Your dad was always good at remembering which foods you liked, and which you didn’t, but your mother had never been so great with those details. She was more of a big-picture sort of person. Wanting to be polite, you grabbed one, took one bite, and set the remainder on the far side of your plate. You chewed it, pasted a fake smile on your face as you swallowed it, and gave your mother a thumbs-up. 

“Having fun yet?” Ben’s low voice murmured. He was leaned in close to you, and his arm was draped over the back of your chair protectively. You rolled your eyes, knowing that he was asking only to make sure Joe hadn’t supremely embarrassed you with the chickenpox story. Ben had always been very perceptive, and it seemed that his skill at reading people hadn’t waned in the last few years. 

“This event would be so much better if there was more wine, and less of my mother,” you whispered back, hoping your voice was quiet enough not to be heard across the table. Everyone appeared occupied by either food or conversation, so you figured it was safe so long as you kept your voice down. 

“We never did get to drink that wine I brought over last week,” Ben reminded you, raising an eyebrow. His right hand shifted off the back of the chair and onto your shoulder, where he began to lightly trace the seam of your dress with his index finger. “Didn’t watch any of my movies either. Maybe when we get back to your flat tonight, we could…” 

“Get wasted, watch a shitty movie, and make out like we’re sixteen?” you teased softly, leaning in closer. His eyes momentarily flickered down to your lips, giving you all the permission you needed. Ben’s mouth was warm and sweet against yours, and if you had been anywhere else, you would have taken longer to savour it. The kiss was chaste and quick, but still managed to earn a disapproving cough and scowl from your mother. 

“Oh, leave them be, Jo,” Mrs. Mazzello laughed, gently elbowing your mother. “They’re young and in love. Let them kiss and cuddle all they want. You and I know better than anyone that sometimes, you really don’t have all the time in the world to show someone you love them.” Your mother smiled at her friend’s wisdom, and decided that she was right; sometimes, love was cut short unexpectedly. She wanted you to be as happy as possible, and if that meant giving a little kiss to your handsome British boyfriend, she guessed she could turn a blind eye to a bit of PDA. 

* * * * * 

Around the time dessert was being served, you began to feel a bit of tingling in your mouth. At first, you ignored it, attributing it to the bite of spicy soup Ben had shared with you. The tingling didn’t go away, however, and that was concerning. You had a sip of water, hoping to clear the feeling, but all that did was make you cough. Ben glanced over at you, frowning. 

“Are you feeling alright, love?” he asked, setting a hand to your cheek. His palm was cool against your face, but provided no relief. 

“I don’t know, I feel kind of…off,” you shrugged. Maybe your collar was just too tight? You gave it a tug, but that didn’t do much except rub uncomfortably against your skin. 

“Pull your collar down a bit,” Ben requested, his expression growing more serious. Confused, you did as he asked. He brushed his fingertips against the base of your throat, which, from what he could see, had a bit of a rash. 

“Joe, have a look at this for me,” Ben asked, alerting Joe with the panicked tone of his voice. You appreciated his concern, but the expression on his face was starting to scare you. Sucking in a big breath, you realized that your throat was starting to feel a bit…tight. You said as much, and it was clear from your change in pitch that something was very wrong. 

“Gwil, I need you to go grab Y/N’s purse from the coat rack and bring it here, please,” Joe instructed urgently. “It’s a light brown leather satchel, about this big.” He held his hands up to demonstrate the size, and Gwil stood up immediately to search for your bag. 

“What’s going on?” Joe’s sister asked, standing up at the end of the table. Everyone had stopped talking now, and all eyes were trained on you. Your heart was beating fast, you could feel it racing in your chest; maybe if they stopped staring, you wouldn’t be so nervous. You tried to say so, but the words came out only as a whistle from your throat. 

“Mary, grab the kids and take them downstairs, please,” Joe requested, not giving her any more specific information. She obliged, and John’s wife followed, grabbing her two toddlers by the hands. 

“Should I call for help?” Lucy asked, holding tightly to Rami’s arm. She was trying so hard to look brave for your sake, you knew she was, but it was becoming clearer by the second that something very serious was wrong. Joe turned towards her for a moment and mouthed something you couldn’t see. Her hands shaking, Lucy pulled her phone from the pocket of her dress and dialled 911, stepping away from the table in case things got loud. Ben reached for your hands and took them in his, pressing a kiss to each knuckle in an attempt to distract you. 

“You’re going to be okay, love,” he promised, giving your hand a reassuring squeeze. Gwil returned with you bag, which Joe began to search through. One moment his hand was in your purse, you blinked, and then he was brandishing your EpiPen. 

“Orange to the thigh, blue to the sky,” he instructed Ben, demonstrating how to use the device. “This will buy us enough time for help to arrive.” Joe looked in your eyes, and his mouth began to move, but you couldn’t understand a word he was saying. The blood rushing in your ears was too loud now. You frowned, glancing back and forth between Ben and Joe. 

You didn’t notice the needle pierce your leg, nor did you hear Joe count down from 10, ensuring the injection had time to fully infuse. Within a few seconds, you felt yourself suck in a large breath of air, and your heartbeat began to even out. You became aware that your mother was crying, and that Mrs. Mazzello was trying to encourage her to step into another room for the time being. Other dinner guests had cleared the area, allowing for Ben and Joe to do whatever they needed to help you. 

Everything after that went by in a blur; a group of paramedics entered the house and interrupted Christmas dinner, to your great annoyance, and settled you onto a stretcher. Ben and Joe both accompanied you in the ambulance, which brought you to a nearby hospital. At some point, a tube was attached to your arm, and some clear liquid was running from an IV bag into your body. Ben held your hand the entire time, releasing you only when the paramedics insisted that he had to in order for them to take the stretcher out of the ambulance. 

Doctors and nurses asked you questions, but you couldn’t remember what they had asked, or how you had answered, for very long. Joe was on the phone a lot, maybe calling his mom? You weren’t so sure. More medication went into your IV tube, someone took your blood pressure every few minutes, and a bunch of sticky things with wires attached were placed on your body. Ben said it was something to do with your heart. _Were you having a heart attack?_

Eventually, you closed your eyes and tried to let sleep take over. You felt tired, _exhausted_ , even, and sleep was the only thing that could fix that. Ben dragged his chair over to the edge of your bed and lowered the side rail so he could be closer to you. The last thing you remembered before your nap was Ben apologizing over and over, kissing the back of your hand as if you are a princess, and he is the knight that has come to your rescue. _Why does he keep saying he’s sorry?_

* * * * * 

“I’m so stupid,” Ben says, looking up at Joe as you sleep. Joe’s hair is a mess, he looks tired even though it’s only been a few hours since you were admitted to the hospital, and he isn’t saying _anything._

“Fuck, it has to have been something I ate. She’s so careful about that.” Ben continues to ramble to himself, but Joe just paces, clutching his cellphone in his hand as he walks. The nurse comes in to check on you, takes your blood pressure again, but you don’t wake up. 

“Is this normal? For her to sleep like this?” Ben inquires, staring up at the nurse with concern. “I’m just – is she going to be okay?” 

“Her body is exhausted right now from trying to function properly,” the nurse explains, “so yes, it’s entirely normal that she’s sleeping like this.” Her voice is calm, and Ben feels slightly reassured by her words. She leaves the room for a minute, and returns with a rolling recliner chair, which she places by your bedside. On the seat, she sets out a blanket and pillow, and on the couch on the other side of the bed, she tosses another blanket and pillow. 

“Gentlemen, I’d suggest you get some shut-eye,” she recommends gently. “Y/N will sleep for most of the night, I’d expect, and will probably need to stay in hospital for a couple days before she can go home.” Ben nods robotically, still sitting in his shitty plastic chair. 

“Joe, you can take the recliner,” Ben offers, watching Joe as he walks from one side of the room to the other. He doesn’t respond to Ben’s words, distracted instead by the message he’s just received from his sister. Stopping in his tracks, Joe looks to Ben triumphantly and reads out Mary’s text. 

“Josephine put Worcestershire sauce in her devilled egg filling.” Joe smiles, waiting for Ben to respond, but he just gets a blank stare in return. 

“I don’t understand,” Ben deadpans. “I don’t give a fuck about eggs, Joe.” 

“Worcestershire sauce is made with anchovies, Ben,” Joe explains, “and Y/N had a bite of one of her mom’s devilled eggs. It was the anchovies, not something you ate.” 

“How do you know?” Ben asks softly, glancing down at your sleeping figure, cocooned in white hospital blankets. The IV drip is running into your arm, and you have a tube across your face sending oxygen up through your nose. Ben has never felt so scared in his life as he does now, even when he was standing at the top of the Duomo in Florence, staring down at the ground hundreds of feet below. 

“Because I know how careful you are, Benny,” Joe says, crouching down beside his friend’s chair. “You love her so much, and you would never do anything to hurt her. She knows that, and so does anyone else that knows you.” 

“So, her mom offered her something that had fish in it?” Ben asks after a moment, looking down at Joe, who is still on the ground beside him. “How the hell did she not think about that first? _And_ , why would she have offered her devilled eggs, of all things? Y/N detests mayonnaise. I was surprised she even took one bite.” 

“Mrs. Y/L/N must not have read the ingredients carefully,” Joe says, shrugging. “She didn’t do it maliciously, I’m certain of that. She’s just…forgetful, sometimes. Especially now.” He goes quiet, and hopes you can’t hear him, in case Ben decides to take the bait. Joe knows it’s not his place to share, but he really thinks Ben needs to understand that your mother wasn’t trying to murder you. 

“Especially now?” Ben prompts, furrowing his brow. 

“Well, I’m sure you’re not blind, so you can see that Mrs. Y/L/N is no spring chicken,” Joe begins, “but basically, she was in her 40s when Y/N was born, and now she’s like, 81. She’s hard of hearing, needs glasses, and uh…” Joe goes quiet for a moment, wanting to be sensitive in how he explains things. “She, um, was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s about a year ago, and it’s starting to affect her memory, and her ability to do stuff at home.” 

“Oh, shit,” Ben says under his breath. 

“Yeah. It’s been really tough on Y/N, especially because she’s the only one left to take care of her mom,” Joe explains somberly. “She’s been saving, like, all of her money, so that when her mom can’t live alone anymore, she can take time off of work to take care of her. The last thing she wants is for her mom to be in a care home.” 

“Like her dad was,” Ben recalls. Your father, who had also been in his upper years at the time of his death, had been diagnosed with advanced colon cancer, and you hadn’t been able to take the time off work to be home with him full time. “She really regretted that. I remember how much she hated that she couldn’t be with him,” Ben murmurs. 

“Yeah, so…maybe don’t mention the whole anchovy sauce thing, and accuse her mom of murder when she wakes up,” Joe recommends, patting Ben’s shoulder. “Probably not the best way to keep things cool between you.” 

“Thanks for telling me, Joe,” Ben says, truly grateful for Joe’s insight. He opens his mouth to say one more thing, but pauses, not wanting to make things weird between him and Joe. Deciding that it’s best to clear the air sooner rather than later, Ben stands up and grabs Joe’s arm as he heads for the door. 

“Joe, are you in love with Y/N?” Ben asks, hoping he won’t regret asking. Joe is his best friend, and the last thing he wants is to fuck that up. 

“Aw, shit, Ben,” Joe groans, turning around. “I was just gonna go get some coffee, and then you go asking deep questions.” Joe crosses his arms and leans against the door frame, regarding Ben cautiously. “So…the easy answer is no.” 

“Okay,” Ben says, quirking an eyebrow. “What’s the hard answer?” 

“The hard answer is that I was, for a long time,” Joe says, sighing. “Or, at least, I thought I was at the time. Now, I love her as one of my closest friends. She’s been my friend for 30 years, so I think if I hadn’t been _in_ love with her at some point, it would be crazy.” 

“So, you love her, but you’re not _in love_ with her,” Ben clarifies, narrowing his eyes. “I don’t mean to ask this as like, a challenge to your friendship with Y/N or anything, man. I just…don’t want to stop being your friend if things get serious between us.” 

“That’s super fair,” Joe nods, uncrossing his arms and shoving his hands into his pockets. “I told Y/N how I felt when we were in college. She didn’t feel the same way, and it really fuckin’ hurt. Like, a lot. But we stayed friends, I figured out why she and I weren’t good for each other in that way, and now we’re here.” Joe looks around the hospital room and cringes. “Well…you know what I mean.” 

“So, do I have your blessing to try this out with Y/N, then?” Ben asks, looking hopefully at Joe. “I value your friendship, and I value hers, and I really just want to keep you both in my life. It’s just…going to look a little different than it did before.” 

“You don’t need my blessing, because, as Y/N reminds me time and time again, she’s a ‘ _strong, independent woman who don’t need permission from a man,_ ’” Joe quotes, smiling because he loves that you’re a feminist. “But yeah, I think you guys are great together, and that as long as you both want to make it work, it will.” He walks up to the chair where Ben is sitting, holds his arms open wide, and pulls Ben into a long, tight hug. 

“I’m glad you’re her friend, Joe,” Ben murmurs, squeezing Joe around his shoulders. 

“Well, she’d literally have died if I didn’t do anything today, so yeah, I’m glad to be her friend, too,” Joe joked. As Joe and Ben released each other, you clear your throat, wanting them to realize that you are _definitely_ awake. 

“So, is there something I need to know about here, guys?” you ask, a tired smile creeping over your face. “Because, I really like you, Ben, but if it’s Joe you wanted all along, then I can just, uh, go die of my fish allergy somewhere else.” Ben leans over and kisses you gently, reassuring you that he’s yours. 

“So, the bad news is, you’re probably going to be in here until Christmas day at the earliest,” Ben explains, grimacing. “Hope you didn’t have huge plans or anything.” 

“Usually I just spend the holiday with Joe,” you admit, “but this year he’s coming back to Rhinebeck by himself on the 25th and staying for a few days. So I’ll be all by my lonesome at the flat.” Your aunt, also a widow, and 10 years younger than your mother, has agreed to spend Christmas in Rhinebeck to give some time to celebrate however you wish. 

“Well, once we get out of this swanky joint,” Ben teases, “maybe we could think about drinking that wine, and watching a shitty Christmas movie together?” 

“That sounds like a perfect Christmas to me,” you smile, angling your face up to receive another kiss. Joe, still standing at the end of the bed, pretends to gag. 

“Hey, rude,” you say sternly. “I’m trying to be in love with my boyfriend here, and you’re ruining it, Joey. Like, thanks for saving my life and all, but, you know…” 

“Yeah, I do,” Joe says, shaking his head. “I’d better head back to my mom’s house before she loses her shit, anyways. Gimme a hug, and I’ll leave you two to _snog_ , or whatever the hell you do when you’re alone.” Joe embraces you, carefully at first, and then when he sees that you aren’t as fragile as you look, he pulls you tight against his chest. 

“Love you, Joey. Merry Christmas,” you whisper in his ear. “Keep an eye on Mom for me – make sure she doesn’t wander out into the snow without shoes on, or something.” 

“Will do, kiddo. Love you, too,” Joe says, his voice muffled by your hair. Joe and Ben hug once more, and then it’s just the two of you. 

“Well, I’d try to be romantic and invite you into bed with me, but I think the nurse will yell at me if one of these wires comes undone,” you say, glancing up at Ben. “Maybe the recliner will be comfy?” Ben just stares at you, still caught up in your admission from a minute ago. 

“You’re in love with me?” he asks, disbelief written all over his face. Rolling your eyes, you pat what you can reach of the recliner, inviting Ben to come and lie beside you, albeit on a different surface. 

“Of course I’m in love with you, Jonesy,” you grin, grabbing his hand as he settles into the recliner. “I have been for, like, three years. Get with the program, babe.” Ben stretches out, leaning the recliner back so he’s lying flat. Using the controls for the hospital bed, you lower it so that you are both at the same height. Ben drapes the blanket the nurse left for him over his body, reaches out to help adjust yours, and lies back down, lacing his fingers through yours. 

“This wasn’t exactly how I thought my Christmas would look, but I really meant it when I said that you were all I wanted this year,” Ben mumbles, closing his eyes. He’s exhausted, and now that he’s lying down, the fatigue is catching up with him fast. 

“Well, you’re one lucky duck, then,” you smile, “’cause honey, I’m all yours.”


End file.
